


Fluidity

by lonelylittlelights



Category: Chicago PD (TV)
Genre: Ace!Mouse, Angst, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Life is Fluid, Multi, Poly, multi-chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2018-05-28 16:51:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 52,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6337357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelylittlelights/pseuds/lonelylittlelights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I shouldn't have… I said I wasn't judging you, and then I went and got angry, and I said… and I shouldn't… I shouldn't have said all that." He looks away, staring at the wall. "Mouse… I'm glad you did. I think it needed saying." Somehow it's the start of something they never expected. Tag to Life is Fluid and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

He’s adjusting the backpack on his shoulder when he turns the corner and sees her standing in front of the door. He wonders briefly if he’s supposed to be surprised, but he’s not really, so he just keeps walking, noting the way her fingers are tapping anxiously against her thigh. He’s only about ten feet away from her when she reaches up to run a hand through her hair, sighing and turning away from the door towards him. She startles when she sees him – Mouse forgets sometimes that he, like Jay, has never managed to break the habit of turning himself into a ghost; forgets that while he and Jay are so accustomed to each other that they don’t need footsteps to know the other is coming, others aren’t always so alert.

“Mouse, hi.” Her voice is surprised too, too high, pitching up at the end, but somehow he thinks it has less to do with not hearing him come up behind her and more to do with not expecting to see him here. He didn’t miss the way her eyebrows drew together slightly when she saw him. A little burn flickers inside him at that. _It’s not a big deal,_ he reminds himself, _we haven’t been working together all that long. She doesn’t know me that well. She knows that Jay and I are friends, but I don’t think she really knows._ He pointedly ignores the fact that despite the same short amount of time he’s known her, he wasn’t surprised to see her at Jay’s door.

“Hi Lindsay, Jay not answering?” He adjusts the strap of his bag over his shoulder again, and her eyes follow his movement. She shakes her head.

“I knocked a few times but, yeah, no answer.” He steps up closer to her, and she moves aside slightly to let him get in front of the door. He raps on the door gently with his knuckles.

“Jay, buddy, you there?” Mouse can feel Lindsay’s eyes on him as he listens intently, nodding slightly to himself when there’s nothing. “Probably asleep. Will said he managed to actually wrangle Jay into taking some pain meds this time.” He glances back at Lindsay as he says this, just in time to see the slight twitch of her eyebrows. He’s not sure what part of what he said was surprising.

“So I guess we’ll just have to wait until tomorrow to see him,” Lindsay says to his shoulder in defeat, but Mouse isn’t really paying attention. He’s rustling through his pocket for his key ring, and then fiddling through them to find the right one, which he sticks in the lock and turns. Lindsay has gone very still beside him as he gently pushes open the door and pulls his key back out of the lock. He takes one step inside and turns to look back at her, hurt and irritation twinging again at her parted lips, the slight raise of her eyebrows. When he catches a glimpse of something that looks like jealousy, he can’t help but feel a little bit of satisfaction.

“You comin’ in?” He can see her re-evaluating the whole situation, trying to figure out what the right answer is. She’s been a pretty closed book to him up till now, but under the hallway’s fluorescent lights her face betrays her emotions. Concern, fear, longing, uncertainty... And suddenly he’s certain, and overwhelmingly grateful, that there’s another person out there who loves the bruised boy in that apartment as much as he does, so he gives her a little smile. “Come on, I know he’d want to see you.” And he knows this was the right choice, because she looks so relieved as she steps into the dim apartment with him.

He shuts the door behind them and locks it, before wandering into the living room, Lindsay trailing behind him. As he expected, there’s Jay sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep, halfway illuminated by the street lamps through the window. Most of the damage is hidden by his clothes and the shadows, but Mouse hears a short sharp inhalation from behind him and remembers how hard it was to breathe when that video started playing on his computer screen. He lets them stand there for a minute, just watching Jay’s chest rise and fall, before he turns and puts one hand gently on Lindsay’s shoulder. She doesn’t quite manage to hide away the pain in her eyes when they meet his, but he pretends not to see it.

“Come on,” he mutters lowly, and guides her into the kitchen where he flicks on the light. He lets his bag slide off his shoulder and leans it against the cupboards, slouching comfortably against the counter. Lindsay stands awkwardly with her arms crossed, face once again uncertain.

“Mouse… not that I don’t appreciate you letting me in, but he’s asleep. What are we doing here?” There’s a few different ways he can answer this question, some easier than others. But there’s something about standing in this kitchen, with Jay laying battered in the other room, the video playing on a loop in the back of his mind and the way that Lindsay’s eyes keep flicking towards the dark doorway of the living room that makes him feel like the two of them are mirror images.

“We’re here because we need to reassure our demons that we got Jay out, that he’s still breathing. And because if we were anywhere else, they’d be eating us alive.” This isn’t the answer she was expecting, he knows that, and he can tell she’s not quite sure what to say next, so he continues on. “And we’re also here because you can bet Jay didn’t have dinner because he’s exhausted and hurting, but he’s too damn stubborn to ask for help. So that’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna keep telling ourselves that he’s okay, that we’re okay, and we’re gonna make dinner.” She’s still staring at him like he’s suddenly become a strange animal, but that’s okay. She’s never seen him broken, not like everyone has seen her. She has no idea that he’s been where she is now, and the shitshow shadows that follow him and Jay around. She doesn’t see it yet, how much the same the three of them are.

“You know I don’t think Jay’s gonna have much for us to work with,” Lindsay says with a bit of a smile, a shadow of a laugh. Mouse huffs out a chuckle.

“Tell me about it.” He grins at her, and reaches down to unzip his backpack, pulling out a bag of pasta and a jar of sauce. Lindsay gives a little “Hm” of a laugh and nods.

“Now we’re talking.” She steps towards him, finally dropping her crossed arms and relaxing into herself, like she’s finally committed to being here, and takes the pasta and sauce out of his hands to place them on the counter by the stove. When she puts them down, he watches her glancing around the kitchen for a second before he pushes off the counter to open the bottom cupboard next to the stove. Maneuvering delicately, he pulls out a stack of pots, holding them awkwardly to try and get the right ones out. Lindsay steps over automatically, and the two of them juggle the pile until Lindsay is left holding the two pots they need, and Mouse slides the rest of them back into the cupboard while she fills one of the pots with water.

It’s oddly comfortable, being in the kitchen with Lindsay. They fall into working together easily, checking the water for it to boil, pouring the sauce into the other pot to heat it. Lindsay  pulls open a cupboard to get a glass (Mouse thinks this might be the one thing she knows how to find in Jay’s apartment) and automatically grabs a second one, filling them both with water and passing one to Mouse. They exchange smiles in companionable silence. They stir the sauce, pour in the noodles and stir those too. Every couple of minutes one of them pads over into the next room and stands just past the doorway to watch a few rises and falls of Jay’s chest before coming back into the kitchen.

It doesn’t take that long to cook, and then Lindsay is pulling three bowls out of the cupboard, Mouse is grabbing cutlery and they’re spooning out three servings. And then they both pause, Lindsay breaking the silence first.

“Should we wake him?” Mouse stares at the bowl of steaming pasta in front of him and taps his fingers thoughtfully on the counter.

“Considering… well, everything, it’s probably best we don’t. At least, not the way I think you’re thinking.” He looks over at her, frowning slightly as though she’s not quite sure what to make of the subtext in what he just said. He thinks about letting her puzzle about it, but it feels right to explain. “He’s a soldier, you know? I mean, technically he’s a cop now, but he’s always gonna be a soldier. We both are. And he’s a soldier who’s just been tortured. We try to wake him, he’s gonna lash out, and that’ll hurt him and us.” She flinches when he says the word ‘tortured;’ the word almost got stuck in his throat too, and he can see the pain this new understanding causes her. But he also sees something else, something a little like gratitude, a little like kinship. “Come on, I’ve got a better idea.” He picks up his bowl and the one they’d filled for Jay, balancing it in the crook of his arm to pick up his water glass too. Lindsay does the same, taking the glass they’d filled for Jay, and he leads the way back into the dim living room. He maneuvers his burden onto the coffee table in front of one of the armchairs, gesturing Lindsay to the other one, and then he walks over to the light switch.

Lindsay looks a little alarmed, but when he starts dragging the switch up slowly and she realizes that Jay’s lights have a dimmer switch, her face relaxes again. Little by little, Mouse illuminates the room, watching Jay carefully for any reaction until they’re on almost full brightness. On his way back to his seat, he scoops up the TV remote, thanking god that Jay has a habit of turning the volume way down before he turns off the TV, so he doesn’t have to hesitate before pushing the power button. Lindsay’s smiling now, because she’s figured it out as he flicks through the channels to the hockey game and inches the volume up.

Mouse slides the remote back onto the coffee table and picks up his bowl of pasta instead, kicking off his shoes and pulling his feet up to curl on the chair. Once he settles he glances over to see Lindsay holding her bowl, watching him with a little smirk. He shrugs and grins, provoking one from her in return. One of the teams on the TV scores and the crowd erupts in muffled cheering behind the announcer’s voice, but Mouse doesn’t look at the screen; instead he turns to look at his sleeping friend, mixing his pasta around with his fork. They sit like that for a while, eating in silence. Mouse inventories the bruises he can see on Jay’s face, running down his neck, the sliver of skin where his shirt is pulling up his side – and there he can see evidence of the Taser burns too. He’s distracted by Lindsay shuffling in her chair, and he glances over briefly to see that she has kicked off her shoes and is now curled in her chair the same way he is. He smiles a little to himself and looks back at Jay.

“Mouse?” Lindsay says it timidly, quietly. When he looks over, she doesn’t meet his eyes, still staring at Jay instead.

“Yeah?” She frowns at her pasta, poking at it.

“What did you mean, ‘this time?’” She still doesn’t look at him as she says it. He furrows his brows.

“What do you mean?” He’s not sure what she’s talking about, and she finally looks at him, her face three different kinds of guarded and apprehensive. She clears her throat slightly.

“Before we went in, you said, uh, you said Will convinced Jay to take some pain meds _this time_.” Mouse goes still, the two of them statues in each other’s eyes and he wonders what she sees in his.

“Oh.” He hadn’t even really noticed he’d said it at the time, hadn’t thought. He swallows and breaks eye contact to look back at his pasta, biting his lip. “I’m, uh…” he trails off, fighting the familiar tightness in his chest, not even knowing where that sentence was supposed to be going. He grimaces a little, clearing his throat, and shifting in his seat. He’s looking for a new sentence to start, but Lindsay gets there first.

“Shit I’m – Mouse, sorry, I just, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” She looks flustered, angry, but he’s pretty sure it’s herself she’s angry with.

“No, it’s, Lindsay it’s fine, it’s just,” he scrunches up his face a little, looking for the right words, “it’s gotta come from him, you know? Out there, trusting your unit is all you’ve got, trust is what keeps you alive, and it’s everything, and you come back the way we did…” he pauses to swallow hard and take a breath. “When you get back, trust is hard to come by, and it’s fragile. So he has to let you in first.” He says this mostly to his pasta, because it’s easier that way. When he glances back at her, she’s staring again, but her eyes skitter away when she sees him looking, landing on Jay.

“We’ve worked together for three years, Mouse. We put our lives in each other’s hands every day.” He knows immediately how to answer this, but he doesn’t want to say it really. It’ll hurt her. But she has to understand, has to, if she wants Jay to let her in.

“Yeah, and Jay trusts you with his life. You know that. But people always say they’d trust someone with their life like that’s the biggest thing there is, and it’s not. I think trusting the unit with his life is easy. It’s trusting you guys with his secrets that’s hard. And from what I’ve heard, you haven’t made it easy Erin.” Her first name slips out accidentally. And there it is, on her face plain as day, that bit of affront, hurt, defensiveness… “I’m not judging you, but you have to think about it from his point of view. He was already struggling with the Rodiger thing, and then Lonnie gets killed, Voight pulls his badge and all you guys have to say to him is ‘get a good lawyer.’ No one said to him ‘I know you didn’t do it,’ or ‘I believe in you.’ You didn’t even acknowledge that it had to be difficult for him, nobody said that they were there for him. You tossed him out to drown on his own while you went on with your lives. Hell, Antonio hit him, and blamed him for making his own life more difficult with Voight. And when it finally came out that Lonnie’s dad did it, nobody apologized for how they’d treated him. But he’s Jay, so of course he’s not gonna say anything, he just sucks it up and gets back to work. And then there’s the whole mess with Jin and Voight and IA. But he figures it out, and everything is pretty good for a while, and then you tell him you’re leaving the unit – his partner. And then you guys get together, but you come back to the unit and break it off. And then…” He pauses because this is the hardest part to say, and he’s been letting his words get away from him. He’s angry at her, he’s realized. He said he’s not judging her, but he’s furious that she’s been such unsteady ground for Jay, and he’s furious because he knows Jay never could be, not at her, but he thinks someone has to be. He’s said this much already, so he’s got to say the rest. He takes a breath, forcing himself to keep looking at Erin as he says it, even as he sees how lost she looks.

“And then you guys caught the Yates case, and Hank goes behind his back to ambush his brother and accuse him of doing it. And then Nadia died. And you were so busy with your own grief you didn’t even acknowledge his, like you were the only person who lost anything. Nadia wasn’t just yours, Erin. You know, sometimes Jay’d be staying late doing paperwork, or we’d be having a beer or talking down in the tech room, and Nadia would be staying late too, because she found it easier to concentrate in her work environment than at home. And Jay would quiz her and help her study. I think he was starting to think of her as the little sister he never had. You know the two of them were planning a surprise party for you? We were all helping, but it was the two of them that were putting it all together. You’re not the only one who’s been beating themselves up with guilt either.” She’s crying now, and he hates himself a little for making her cry. “They ordered a birthday cake. Nadia was going to steal your keys to go pick it up, but she didn’t have a chance. So Jay picked your pocket for her and gave them to her. After, I’d walk in a room and he’d be sitting there, just sitting there staring at his keys. But he knew how much she meant to you, so he tried so hard to hide his grief because he had to be strong for you, too busy trying to hold you together to take care of himself. And then…” He pauses looking for the right way to phrase this part, throat tight, but Erin cuts in before he can put together a sentence.

“And then I abandoned him again.” Her voice breaks halfway through and Mouse shoves his half-empty bowl onto the coffee table, swallowing hard.

“Shit.” He brings one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I – shit.” He squeezes his eyes shut, listening to the distant din from the TV. Erin is silent, and he imagines he could almost forget that she’s here.

“Mouse?” Her voice is thick from tears, but also concern that ripples across his skin, burning.

“I shouldn’t have… I said I wasn’t judging you, and then I went and got angry, and I said… and I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have said all that.” He looks away, staring at the wall.

“Mouse… I’m glad you did. I think it needed saying.” He glances back, meeting her sombre eyes. Her lips quirk up in a sad smile before her gaze flicks back over to Jay. “I need to do better.” She shifts suddenly in her chair, reaching over, and he starts when she grabs his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m going to do better.” He squeezes her hand in return, offering a tentative smile.

They sit like that for a moment, hands loosely entwined, before she leans back into her chair, letting go. Mouse reaches for the remote, upping the volume a few notches more, and they wait.

“Mouse,” comes a mumbled voice a few minutes later. “Mouse, did you make spaghetti? You better not have made a mess of my kitchen.” Mouse chuckles, watching Jay begin to shift, though his eyes are still closed. He can hear Erin shuffling abruptly in her chair, probably disentangling herself.

“Neat freak,” he snorts. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, we’ll clean up.” Jay’s eyes finally flutter open, blinking blearily in the light.

“We?”

“Erin’s here, too. She helped me make dinner.” Jay’s brows knit together slightly, eyes flicking over to Erin, who is leaning so far forward Mouse worries she might fall off her chair.

“Hi,” Jay mumbles. Erin lets out a little gasping laugh of relief.

“Hi.” Mouse unfurls his legs, rolling up out of his chair.

“C’mon, let’s get you up,” he says, resting a hand gently on Jay’s shoulder. Jay grimaces briefly, nodding and bracing himself. Mouse slips a hand carefully under Jay’s back. “Guide me?” Jay stays quiet for a second.

“Higher, towards my left shoulder.” Nodding, Mouse shifts his hand, holding out the other for Jay to take. “On three?”

“You got it,” Mouse agrees, crouching slightly to get the right leverage. “One. Two. Three.” Mouse pulls upward, the two of them maneuvering together gently. Not gently enough, Jay wincing with the movement, breath hitching, but they manage to get him sitting upright. Mouse perches on the couch next to him, sinking slowly into the cushions to keep from jostling his friend too much. As Jay settles, Mouse leans forward to grab the full bowl of pasta that had been sitting on the coffee table, meeting Erin’s wide, worried eyes. He gives her a reassuring smile, leaning back to pass the bowl to Jay, who accepts it with slow-moving limbs. “How are your shoulders?” Jay grimaces again.

“Hurt like hell.” Mouse levers himself off the couch, catching the confusion on Erin’s face before she speaks.

“Shoulders?” Jay’s mouth tightens, a confliction of emotions flickering over his face, a mingling of pain, memory, fear, relief and a melancholy joy. When Jay stays silent, Erin’s eyes flicker over to Mouse. The confusion being overtaken by wide-eyed beginnings of panic, she looks suddenly to Mouse like a weakened echo of Collins the moment he realized he’d stepped on a landmine. He looks at her softly.

“You’ve never been hogtied,” he says quietly, stilled for a moment watching the flood of understanding, and oddly, shame into her eyes. Then he turns, brushing fingers lightly through Jay’s hair on his way past into the kitchen. He can hear shuffling, the low murmur of voices through the doorway, but they lose distinction through the walls, and under the sound of the hockey game still playing.

When he comes back in, Erin has moved onto the couch next to Jay, bent towards him with one hand resting lightly on his knee. Her eyes are glittering, but it looks like she’s managed to keep tears from falling. Jay is staring into his pasta. Both look up at him at the sound of his footsteps back into the room as he comes around the back of the couch to settle the heat pack gently across Jay’s shoulders. Jay turns back to his pasta, bringing the fork to his mouth stiffly, but Erin stays half turned, gaze flicking uncertainly between Mouse and Jay. She tenses, like she might get up, but Mouse lets his fingers land lightly on her shoulder before moving around to settle back into his armchair.

At first, the silence between the three of them is heavy, and Erin seems to be biting her tongue, sometimes looking like she might speak before swallowing the words. Then, one of the teams on the TV scores, the crowd erupting in cheers that draw their attention, and the distraction provides the catalyst they needed. Nothing changes, but everything does, because suddenly they all sink a little more into their seats, a little more into themselves. The silence is companionable, and they sit like that until Jay finishes his pasta, until the heat pack resting on his shoulders is no longer warm, and the hockey game is over. They’re all drowsy then. Erin yawns, Mouse following suit before clicking the TV off and standing, stretching out his arms over his head. Jay’s eyes are heavily lidded, like he might fall asleep again right where he sits.

“No sleeping on the couch Jay, c’mon.” Jay looks up at him, nodding wearily, and lifting a hand for Mouse to take. Erin leaps nimbly out of the way as Mouse moves in to wrap an arm once again around Jay, who lets out a hiss as they stand. Erin gently lifts the heat pack threatening to fall off of Jay’s shoulders.

“Should I heat this back up?” Mouse smiles, touched by a little pride – whether she fully intended it or not, she made the perfect choice. Helpful, without pity, giving Mouse the space to help Jay get into bed, and giving Jay the space to lean on Mouse without feeling like he needs to pretend to be okay.

“Good plan,” he says, greeted by a relieved curve of Erin’s lips before he turns, steering Jay to the bedroom. Jay sinks onto the edge of the bed, yawning, while Mouse pulls out a pair of pajamas, handing them to Jay and clicking on the bedside lamp. Jay starts trying to change into the pajamas while Mouse goes to turn off the main light. Jay lets out a sharp gasp, movements stilling until Mouse comes back to help tug the shirt off his bruised body. The full damage of what Keyes did is suddenly on display, and Mouse can’t quite stop the strangled sound in his throat. Dark bruises bloom across Jay’s ribs, split by angry cuts and speckled with taser burns. He’s still holding Jay’s shirt, standing very still, staring, the edges of the room beginning to blur in his vision. And then Jay’s hand is wrapping around his own, warm and steadying his trembling fingers, tugging him gently onto the bed beside him.

“I’m okay, I’m right here, we’re okay,” Jay murmurs gently, uncurling Mouse’s fingers from around the shirt, lacing his fingers in its place. Mouse nods, squeezing his eyes shut and raising their links hands to hold them to his lips, whispering into their skin.

“I was so afraid, Jay. They sent a video and made us watch, and I couldn’t breathe. And I couldn’t find you.” Jay’s breath hitches.

“But you did. You found me, and I’m okay.” Mouse takes a deep breath, holding it, and letting it out slowly before nodding once more and lowering their hands. He squeezes Jay’s hand once, then lets go to help Jay pull the soft pajama shirt over his head. He helps Jay shuffle under the blankets, propped up on pillows.

“So where are they?” Mouse asks, straightening up.

“Where are what?” Jay parrots, not meeting his eyes. Mouse raises an eyebrow.

“The pain meds I know your brother gave you.” Jay sighs in annoyance.

“In my bag in the living room.” Mouse walks towards the door, pausing when Jay calls out. “Mouse.” He turns back to face the bed. Jay hesitates for a second. “Are you staying?”

“Of course.” Mouse was relieved to hear the question, and he can see the answering relief on Jay’s face at his answer. He walks out into the living room at the same moment Erin comes out of the kitchen, heat pad in hands.

“Go on in, I’ll be there in a minute,” he says, waving her into the bedroom. He finds the bag discarded against the wall, rifling through the pockets until he finds the rattling bottle of pills. He grabs a glass of water from the kitchen, and wanders back into the bedroom, catching Erin leaning back from settling the heat pack around Jay’s shoulders.

“No excuses,” Mouse says sternly, shaking the pill bottle at Jay, who rolls his eyes. Erin’s gaze lingers on the pills a moment, before she looks pointedly at the floor. Jay and Mouse share a worried glance, Mouse hesitating for only a moment before making himself continue as though nothing had happened. He strides past Erin, placing the water glass on the nightstand and checking the prescription label on the pills before shaking two out and handing them to Jay. Jay scowls at the two little white ovals in his palm before tossing them into his mouth and picking up the water. Erin stands, lingering in the quiet pause. Mouse leans down, resting a hand on Jay’s arm.

“Holler if you need anything, we’ve got dishes to do.” Jay grins.

“That kitchen better be spotless, soldier,” he gruffs. Mouse snorts at the terrible impression of their training officer. He clicks off the side table lamp, touching his fingers once more, lightly, on Jay’s arm before guiding Erin through the sudden dark. She follows him, helping to gather up the dishes from the coffee table and bring them to the kitchen, where she gives him an inquisitive smile, one eyebrow arched.

“Our training officer, Grimsby. Swear to God that was his tagline – he had this weird obsession with the kitchen. Also a spectacular mustache.” Mouse shakes his head, smiling at the memory. “The kitchen was never clean enough, and he had a way of knowing exactly what punishment you would hate most. Everyone hated him, and he hated everyone. Except Jay. Two neat-freaks in a pod.” Erin huffs a laugh.

“And what did the other guys think about that?”

“Oh, they ribbed him endlessly for it, but Jay had a way of convincing Grimsby to go easier on the other guys, so it was good natured.”

“And it didn’t bother Jay that they were using him?” Mouse chuckles.

“Course it did, but he called it his icebreaker. The guys had a reason to try to get close to him, so it was an opportunity to get to know them. And of course, because he’s Jay, pretty much all the guys who took the time to know him came to respect him, to be real friends. The ones who didn’t… well, he gave second chances, but not third.” Mouse pulls open a cupboard, rifling through to find Jay’s minimal Tupperware collection, handing the containers to Erin. She takes them, scooping the leftover pasta and sauce into them while Mouse flicks on the tap, starting the rush of water to let it heat up. Mouse rolls up his sleeves, clicking the plug into place and squirting a generous amount of dish soap into the steaming water pooling in the sink. Mouse half expects Erin to keep asking questions about their time in the military now that he’s given her an opening, but she stays silent. He slides the dishes into the rising water, plunging his hands in after them and Erin tugs the dish towel off where it’s hanging on the oven handle and leans against the counter. The only sounds are the sloshing of the water, clinking of dishes, and their breathing, and Mouse falls into sniper breathing, steady, and counted. When Erin does break the silence, it’s the last question he expected to pass her lips.

“Are you in love with him?” He half-drops the bowl he’s washing with a muffled splashing clatter, breath count derailed, and stares at her. She didn’t say it like an accusation, like a judgement – it was kind, curious. She’d been watching him, but now their eyes meet and she drops her gaze, cheeks colouring. He takes a deep breath, looking back at the bubbly foam in the sink, and picks the bowl back up. He takes another steadying breath, preparing to speak, but Erin beats him to it again.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. “You don’t have to answer that.”

Mouse lets his hands still. She’s given him an out, and part of him is desperate to take it. But there’s another part, and he’s not sure he could really he could explain why, but there’s another part of him that wants to answer her anyway. He goes back to washing again, listening to the swish-swash of the water, feeling it eddy around his fingers.

“Yes and no.” He doesn’t look at Erin; he hears her surprised inhale, can almost feel the way she snaps to attention. _She thought I would take the out._ “He’s my best friend, my family. We went through hell and back together. Of course I love him - which isn’t what you asked.” He pauses, remembering the looks of confusion on other peoples’ faces, the long drawn out explanations, the ‘you’re kiddings’ and ‘that’s not a real things’, and braces himself. “I’m ace.” He peeks to the side, and there it is on her face, the drawn-together eyebrows and slightly narrowed eyes, a little crinkle in her nose. He nodded slightly to himself, only a little disappointed.

“Ace? Like asexual?” He looks back at her – she’s looking at him again now, too. And now he notices the difference from the usual faces; unlike others, her eyes aren’t blank. She’s not looking for an explanation, just a clarification.

“Yeah.” She looks away, staring at the wall for a moment, and he holds his breath.

“Huh.  But you are in love with him?” He lets out his breath at her matter-of-factness.

“Yes.” He realizes suddenly that he’s run out of dishes to wash, and he has nothing to do with his hands. He pulls the plug and watches the water level drop slowly, leaving bubbles clinging to the edge. He shakes the water off his hands, reaching for the dish towel. Erin hands it to him, and he drops into one of the kitchen chairs at the table. “Are you?”

“What?” Erin drops into the other chair.

“Are you in love with him?” Mouse repeats, pulling at a thread in the dish towel, looking up at her. Erin sucks in a breath and looks away. She swallows hard.

“Yes.” It comes out in a hoarse whisper, and she looks back at him, eyes wide with fear. Mouse nods, offering her an empathetic smile. She sits still and quiet, staring into space, and he lets her. A moment later she meets his eyes with a renewed consciousness.

“Does he know?” Mouse tilts his head slightly to the side.

“That I love him?” Erin nods. “I think so. He knows I’m ace, has for pretty much forever.”

“But you haven’t told him?”

“No. We’ve never talked about it.” Mouse glances back towards the kitchen door.

“Because if you talk about it, it’s real, and you have to confront it.”  Mouse looks back at Erin, who is staring at him as she says this. One corner of his lips quirk upwards, a sharp half-smile.

“Yeah, something like that.” Mouse realizes that he’s been tugging on the thread in the dish towel the whole time, and finally sets the fraying fabric aside, disentangling his fingers. He stands, plucking the dishcloth out of the now empty sink, wringing it out and swiping it across the counter. He hears Erin stand as well, and she tucks the discarded dish towel back into the oven handle. Then she pushes the chairs neatly into the table and leans on the edge like she’s waiting for a cue from him. He rinses out the dishcloth, hanging it over the tap and wanders out of the kitchen to the linen closet. Erin follows to lean in the doorway of the kitchen, watching him quietly, picking at the bottom of her shirt.

He’s very aware of her eyes on him as he pulls out a stack from the closet - a pillow and blankets – and nudges the door closed with his foot. When he flops the stack on the couch and begins flinging open the blankets, Erin pushes off the door and comes over, scooping her phone off the coffee table where she left it.

“I guess I’ll head out now,” she says quietly, slipping her phone into her pocket. Mouse looks up at her, surprised.

“Oh. I thought… I thought you were staying, that’s why… the couch is for you.” He straightens up, running a hand awkwardly through his hair. Erin’s lips part, eyes widening.

“Oh, I – I hadn’t thought – would Jay be okay with my staying?” Under the awkward and uncertain, Mouse hears a distinct longing. He taps his leg nervously.

“You should stay,” he says. Erin takes a breath, before nodding with resolve. “I’ll get you something to wear.” He turns to go into the dark bedroom.

“Mouse?” He looks back. “Thank you.”

He brings her an old shirt of Jay’s and a pair of pajama pants, handing them off and hooking his fingers through the loop on his backpack where he’d put it resting against the back of the couch. He deliberately doesn’t look at Erin as he heads back into Jay’s room, only pausing at the doorway with half a glance backward.

“Goodnight, Erin.” He doesn’t want to know what the look on her face is the moment she realizes where he’s going to sleep.

“Goodnight, Mouse.” She must have realized, must know at this point, but there’s no hint of anything but a soft gratitude in her voice.


	2. 2

As he expected, Mouse is woken before sunrise by the strangled sounds of Jay’s nightmares. He’s almost glad of the interruption, because his sleeping mind has been running over the heavy _thwack_ of Jay being beaten, and the way he tried not to scream when the electricity was sent fizzling into his skin. He sits up and clicks on one bedside lamp, illuminating the taut lines of pain and fear on Jay’s face.

“Jay, wake up. It’s a nightmare. I’m here, you’re okay, I’m here, you can wake up, it’s okay,” he murmurs softly, rising slowly in volume. “Come on Jay, it’s not real, it’s a nightmare. Wake up.” Bracing himself, Mouse puts a hand on Jay’s arm, jostling it gently while continuing to ramble comforting words. Jay starts awake, eyes wide and wild, snatching at Mouse’s arms. As gently as possible, Mouse pins his friend, still talking, until the wild fear is replaced with recognition.

“Mouse,” Jay croaks. Mouse slides back to the side, running his fingers down to grip Jay’s hand.

“Hey,” he says softly. Jay squeezes his hand tightly, taking a deep shuddering breath. “You wanna talk about it?” Mouse can feel the light tremors running across Jay’s skin. Jay swallows hard, staring up at the ceiling.

“It started just back with Keyes… but then it turned into the Humvee dream.” Mouse sucks in a breath. 

“When was the last time…?” The half-finished question floats above their heads for a moment and Mouse listens to Jay’s breathing falling into a calmer rhythm.

“Nadia.” Mouse blinks slowly, a kind of immobile nod to himself.

“You didn’t call.” He hears Jay swallow again, and feels the slight jump in Jay’s pulse where Mouse let his fingers rest on Jay’s wrist.

“You know why.” Mouse sighs sadly, shutting his eyes for a moment.

“I know.” _The guilt._ “But I wish you had.”

“I would’ve called tonight,” Jay whispers, and Mouse’s breath comes a little easier for the reassurance.


	3. 3

Mouse is the first one awake in the morning, when the sun pokes its first tendrils through the blinds of the bedroom window. Even on his worst days, sleeping in was never an option after he came home, and he knows that usually it’s the same for Jay. Even with the pain meds and the exhaustion and the trauma, he’s sure Jay will be awake soon enough. Slipping out of the bed carefully, he pads to the bathroom, then ghosts through the living room so as not to wake Erin. She’s curled into the cushions of the couch sleeping soundly, and Mouse thinks she probably hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in a while.

In the kitchen he putters about making coffee and checking for anything breakfast-able in the fridge or the pantry. He’s pleasantly surprised to find not only eggs in the fridge, but a pack of bacon that’s not expired in the freezer, and half a loaf of bread in the cupboard free of mold.

It’s not that Jay can’t cook – Mouse knows from first-hand experience that he’s actually pretty handy in the kitchen. It’s that he doesn’t cook, never keeps food stocked. It’s half because of the soldier, and half because of the cop, and only a little because of the other thing that both of them have always shied away from letting a psychologist name. The soldier half remembers the rations, the not knowing when you’d get your next meal, the long hours without food, the ‘don’t take more than you can carry,’ pack light, always pack light, take only what you need, the things you don’t need could be the things that get you killed so only take what you need and sometimes you need food less than you need a gun. The cop half knows the always on the clock, could get the call any time, no time to start complicated recipes, who knows when you’ll be home next, no point buying it if it’ll go bad before you eat it, who knows if you’ll come home at all, no point in buying it just to waste it. And the other part… well.

Mouse knows most of this first-hand too. It’s half because of the soldier, half because of the _drugsboozehackingbaddecisionswhereamilivingnext,_ and a little of the other thing. But he’s starting to learn how to let food take time again, because he’s mostly only fighting the soldier half now – Jay’s still fighting the cop half full time. Mouse knows a lot of it first-hand, but mostly he just knows Jay.

He’s right about Jay, who comes ambling stiffly into the kitchen just as the coffee finishes brewing.

“Is Erin sleeping on my couch?” he asks, staring Mouse down confusedly. Mouse scratches at the back of his neck.

“I didn’t think you’d mind. Seemed like she needed it.” Jay lets that sit for a moment before shrugging, wincing at the movement of his aching shoulders. He pulls out one of the kitchen chairs and sinks into it. “Coffee?” Jay gives Mouse a look, and Mouse grins. “I know, stupid question.” He pours out two cups, adding two sugars to Jay’s and joining him at the table.

“Sleep any better the second half?” Mouse asks. Jay almost shrugs again, stopping just shy of the movement.

“Just the regular nightmares,” he tells his coffee, glancing up to catch Mouse’s heavy nod. _Just the regular nightmares_ , Mouse thinks. _We really are fucked up._ Mouse takes another gulp of his coffee before standing again and pulling the carton of eggs out of the fridge and poking at the package of bacon he had stuck in warm water in the sink to defrost. He’s crouched down, rifling through Jay’s pans when he hears Jay stand behind him. When he emerges triumphant with his pans, Jay has pulled out a bowl and is cracking eggs into it.

“So how long has Will got you benched?” Mouse asks, shaking the water off the pack of bacon. Jay sticks a fork into his bowl of eggs, whisking vigorously.

“I’m on medical leave for a week, then I’ll probably be relegated to the desk for another week. Completely unnecessary,” he scoffs. Mouse rolls his eyes a little at the familiar refrain.

“Just because we didn’t have the time then–”

“Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take it now,” Jay interrupts, “I know.” Mouse snorts a little at Jay’s exasperation, shaking his head. Neither of them are very good at listening to that advice in practice. “Old habits, you know?” Mouse sighs.

“Yeah. Old habits.”

The eggs are just about cooked and the bacon is sizzling in the pan when Erin emerges to lean on the doorway of the kitchen.

“Morning boys,” she says, grinning. Jay gives a little salute with his spatula.

“Morning Erin, you mind putting in the toast?” Mouse asks, gesturing to the bread and the toaster on the counter, and poking at the bacon in the pan. She pushes off the doorway.

“Sure thing.” Jay quirks an eyebrow at Mouse – _Erin, huh? And bossing her around…_ \- who rolls his eyes in response – _Shut up and stir your eggs._ Erin sticks two slices of bread in the toaster, then pulls open the fridge. “Where do I find butter?”

“Top of the door,” Jay and Mouse call out in tandem. When they check behind them, they see Erin, butter in hand, trying not to laugh. Mouse sticks out his tongue, and that does it, cracking her up. Mouse and Jay exchange a grin, Jay’s amusement accompanied by relief; he hasn’t heard her laugh like that since Nadia died. Erin’s toast pops and she reigns herself in to start buttering, sticking in some more bread. And then the eggs are done, the bacon cooked and the three of them are passing plates and cutlery around, settling at the kitchen table. They chat about silly things, updating Erin on Adam and Kim’s engagement, Platt’s bizarre obsession with it, and all the other office gossip, skirting around the reason she doesn’t already know about it all.

It’s a relief for all of them, Mouse thinks, to play at this domesticity, this normality. Jay tries to steal Mouse’s last piece of bacon, and Mouse flicks his fingers away, but Jay turns on the puppy dog eyes. Mouse makes a face, but passes over the bacon with an exaggerated sigh, trying not to smile at the gleeful giggling this routine sparks in Erin. It doesn’t matter that Jay was tortured yesterday, or that Erin’s been gone doing god knows what for almost a month, or that they all probably had nightmares last night. Right now, it’s just breakfast and laughter in morning sunshine.


	4. 4

It’s impossible, keeping Jay off his feet for a week. That morning after breakfast Mouse had checked his watch, sighing mournfully at the time.

“We gotta get to work,” he told Erin, glancing at Jay. Jay had made a show of shoving them out the door with their things, telling them to leave him with the dishes. He’d be fine, go do their jobs. That evening Mouse had returned to Jay sprawled in the living room, half a dozen discarded books around him and the TV tuned to re-runs of Say Yes to the Dress.

“You can’t make me stay here for a week Mouse. I will go out of my fucking mind,” he’d said. Mouse pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing, and called Will. Will insisted on at least one more day of bedrest, but agreed to let Jay go back to work, at the desk only, after that, as long as he promised to stay there. Jay scowled, but agreed. Mouse stayed that night too, although Erin never came – she was under house arrest at Voight’s to recover from her… sabbatical. The two of them played Mario Cart until it was late enough for sleep. Jay woke from muddled nightmares of Keyes jabbing at him with the taser and firefights and explosions – but not the Humvee dream – to find Mouse caught in the claws of his own nightmares. It was Mouse’s turn to be woken with murmured assurances and a gentle touch, gasping awake, shaking. They sat hunched over on the bed, Jay holding Mouse until the trembling stopped, until they could both breathe properly again, and Mouse swiped at the tears with Jay’s forehead resting against his temple.

Jay survived his second day alone, Mouse calling frequently to check in when he had time. Erin came with Mouse to Jay’s apartment that night, carrying grocery bags, and the three of them made dinner – chicken and potatoes, nothing fancy. But it tasted better for the company, and the bruises on Jay’s face were fading to greenish-yellow hues they could almost forget about. They told Jay about the case they were working, a string of home invasions that got bumped up to the unit. They were due back in first thing in the morning, but Voight had called it for the night and sent everyone to get some rest because their leads had all gone cold. Erin couldn’t stay – Voight’s rules – so she squeezed Jay’s hand, clapped Mouse on the shoulder and they waved her out the door. They didn’t play Mario Cart – Mouse had brought the book he was reading, and Jay pulled out one of the ones he had discarded the day before, and they lay silently reading until Mouse started to drift off and Jay pulled the book out of his hands and clicked off the light. It wasn’t peaceful, but neither woke in the night.

They drive into work together, interrupted on their way upstairs by Platt – “Hey Chuckle Brothers! What’s Chuckle no. 1 doing here?” – and catching stares, from the officers who heard mangled versions of the story, and civilians trailing the colours around Jay’s eye with their own. For most of the day, the rest of the team are out chasing leads on foot, re-interviewing witnesses, canvassing, checking in with CIs. That leaves Jay and Mouse alone in upstairs, Mouse clacking keys chasing paper trails, looking for connections or patterns with Jay hanging over his shoulder tossing out suggestions or questions. It’s when Erin calls back in with an update from one of her interviews that they find a thread to pull – a discrepancy in witness stories. And then the two of them are off, bouncing off each other, Mouse’s fingers flying over the keys and it’s not until they cry out triumphant, the story laid out plain as day in front of them that they realize Erin’s still on the line, filling the room with barely audible white noise and her stunned silence.

“…Wow,” she says, and they can hear the suppressed laughter in her voice. “Call Voight and the rest of the team, fill ‘em in and have them meet us at that address.” Mouse and Jay grin.

“Will do Erin, be safe,” Jay says, Mouse already picking up the other phone to dial Voight.

“Always.”

They listen over the coms when the team makes the breach. Mouse leans back, absentmindedly chewing on the end of his pen. He’s used to this part, and it doesn’t stop him from having to deliberately slow his pulse every time but he’s stopped digging his fingernails into his skin. Jay, on the other hand, is perched on the edge of his seat, gripping the table and staring the phone down like an uncooperative suspect. Mouse can see Jay holding his breath when gunshots echo over the line, not relaxing until he hears the team calling out the all clear. One suspect dead, two injured, all four in custody. The team loads the injured into ambos, the one unharmed into a squad car and cut the coms. Jay leans back, shaking out his fingers.

“Is it always like that?” Jay asks. “The waiting, being here while we’re out there?” Mouse dips his head.

“Yeah. It’s always like that,” he says, meeting Jay’s eyes, unable to avoid focusing on the mottled green of the bruise.  “It doesn’t get easier, per se, but you get used to it.” Jay stares back at him, examining his reaction.

“You can get used to almost anything, doesn’t mean you should.” Mouse smiles a little.

“I knew what I was getting into Jay, and I told you, the job is good for me.” Jay nods.

“I know. But it scares me sometimes, knowing I brought you back into this.”

“I never left it really, it’s just that now I’m back on the right side of it.” Mouse pats Jay’s thigh, and grabs the phone, calling down to update Platt on the situation. He can feel Jay’s eyes lingering on him.

They settle into a rhythm, the two of them. When the team is there Jay stays mostly at his own desk, operating as usual. When the team heads out on the street to check out a crime scene or track down a lead, Jay shuffles over to sit by Mouse, bringing his paperwork. They pass work between the two of them, Jay answering the phone if Mouse is in the midst of something on the computer, Mouse taking over Jay’s searches when he’s calling around with his CIs or other connections. Jay still gets fidgety, catching himself from automatically getting up when the team heads out. He stops clenching the desk with white fingers when they’re listening in on the team’s coms, but he’s still stiff and uncomfortable.

Mouse stays over the third night, but the fourth he goes home to his own apartment. It’s cold, because he hasn’t spent more than a few minutes there in days, and the air feels stiff. Despite the faint thumping bass he can hear through the walls from his neighbors, it feels dreadfully quiet, and he clicks on the TV to the news just to have the sound. His own fridge is fairly bare, not much to work with, and he makes a can of soup and a grilled cheese for dinner, which he eats in front of the TV.

He sleeps in fits and starts, waking and waking again to the cold air and the whir of his useless clunking heater. It’s 3 o’clock when the phone rings, jerking Mouse back out of the scrambled nightmares once again.

“Mouse?” Jay’s voice croaks through the line, the kind of croak that comes as the result of screaming oneself awake, and Mouse throws off the covers, recoiling when his toes meet the freezing wood floors.

“I’m on my way,” Mouse says, already grabbing clothes and his backpack.

“Okay,” Jay sighs quietly, before they both hang up, Mouse zipping around his apartment in the dark before slipping out the door.

He both loves and hates driving at night. The glow of the lights contrasted with the night reminds him of his computer screens, the dark quiet is peaceful and it’s one kind of silence (not really silence with the hum of the engine, the click of his turn signal) that he likes. The lights and the streets and the buildings are so different from the desert roads, or the desert where there were no roads at all. But at night, there are shadows everywhere. A million hollows and niches for snipers to hide unseen, discarded trash or leaves or dips in the road all indistinguishable and his pulse jumps driving over them waiting for the blast. It’s not a long drive to Jay’s apartment though, and soon enough he is leaving the cocoon of his rusty second-hand car and clicking his key in the lock.

Jay cranes his head over the back of the couch as Mouse walks in, thrown into wonky lights and shadows by the flickering of the TV. Mouse recognizes March of the Penguins immediately, the shambling gait of the black and white birds. Documentaries are Jay’s companion for nightmare induced insomnia, like Mouse’s computers are for him. Maybe because they play on multiple channels reliably all night, all kinds of them. Maybe because they’re full of concrete information, real and not real at the same time, or maybe it’s the hypnotic voices of the narrators. Whatever it is, Jay can spout the most bizarre and eclectic facts gathered from this myriad of shows, but March of the Penguins is his favorite. Mouse drops his bag and flops onto the couch next to Jay. They don’t speak, just watching the waddling journey of the penguins.

Erin surprises them with take-out the next night, and Mouse can’t pin-point what he feels when she shows up with food for three. They make up plates and take them into the living room. Mouse isn’t quite sure how it happens, except that it’s with laughter, but they end up all three of them slightly squished on the couch, Jay in the middle, bumping elbows and shoulders with Mouse, while Erin lays sideways, knees across Jay’s lap, her ankles stuck in between Mouse and Jay’s legs with her toes tucked under Mouse. They flip through the TV channels to the Blackhawks game. Jay uses Erin’s knees to hold his plate, and they call and boo at the screen. Erin stays later this time, but not the night, still back to Voight’s, and the evening is punctuated by texts from Voight, checking in.

And this is how the next week and a half goes – Mouse and Jay work in increasingly flawless tandem during the day, Mouse barely goes back to his own apartment, instead heading home with Jay where they make dinner, joined by Erin more often than not, and they watch TV, play games, or lounge around doing their own things. Erin stays late, but not too late, then heads home to Voight, and Jay and Mouse are only occasionally woken in the night by bad dreams. They don’t talk about serious things except half-lucid exchanges in the middle of the night between Mouse and Jay when the nightmares are bad. Mouse sometimes catches Erin staring, calculating, examining – _are you in love with him? yes_ – but she doesn’t bring it up again, even when they catch the odd moment alone. Mouse can feel it hanging in the air sometimes – _are you? yes –_ and it’s heavy like a blanket of snow, but not like rubble.

Will insists on a final examination when Jay’s two weeks rest and desk duty are up, but even though Jay’s skin is still tinged from the bruises and the cuts aren’t all healed, he can’t find a good reason to keep Jay out of the field. The team welcomes him back with cheers and hollers, and they catch a case kicked up from narcotics, heading out. Mouse waves them off down the stairs, starting his compilation and search of all relevant information. It’s quiet, so suddenly quiet, on the floor, and lonely – _are you in love with him? yes._

Mouse goes back to his own apartment that night, skipping out on drinks at Molly’s to celebrate a quick end to the case and a successful first day back on the job for Jay. It’s cold, and quiet, and lonely, and he wakes again and again. Jay doesn’t call – _are you in love with him? yes._

Weeks pass, and the physical traces of what Keyes did disappear. Mouse has a habit of making up a cup of coffee for Jay whenever he gets his own, and he absentmindedly starts adding a cup for Erin too. He’s surprised to find that she starts doing the same for him, and while Jay has always brought back lunch for Mouse whenever he picks something up for himself, Erin starts doing it of her own volition. Mouse and Erin head over to Jay’s and the three of them make dinner once or twice a week, but Mouse gets used to being alone again, and stops waiting for Jay to call in the night. He worries when Burgess finds the kid and it looks like it’s spinning towards a child rape/murder, and then worries when Jay’s the one who takes the shot, but they go out for drinks that night with most of the unit, and they leave laughing. Jay doesn’t call.


	5. 5

It’s one of the more hectic days at Platt’s desk, and while the bustle used to scare him into waiting, dancing on the sideline for a clear path, he’s gotten used to it. Now he just pushes to the front, because Voight is impatient to get this done, and it really only will take a second for Platt to sign the requisition form. He doesn’t take that much notice of the guy pushing in beside him, glancing behind him just for a moment as Platt sends the guy packing, feeling a twinge of sympathy before focusing back in on just getting Platt to sign the thing.

“Okay, it’s really not that big a deal. You just take that little pen –”

His sentence is jerked into a yell when he feels the arm yank him back around the neck, and he feels the cold clack of the muzzle of a gun at his temple and for a moment it’s like someone has somehow hit pause and fast-forward at the same time, and he can’t breathe and the world is a whirl of colour without shape, distorted and the blur of the beige walls almost looks like sand, and his lungs are full of sand, he can’t breathe, can’t breathe – _are you in love with him_ – and he knows he’s dissociating – _yes_ – and then sharply, loudly in his ear “Are you going to listen to me now?” and Sargent Platt comes into focus, and he’s staring down the barrel of her revolver.

He still can’t really breathe, his raised arms feel numb, but he can hear the chaos, see it, and at least he’s firmly in the District, not the sand. He swallows hard, fighting only a little pressure from the arm around him – the guy isn’t really trying to choke him, just hold him. And then Voight is there, Burgess and the other officers are shuffling people out, and he’s stumbling backwards with his captor, staring down entirely too many guns until “Sargent, I got a shot,” and he’s sure Roman is a good shot, but that is so not happening. It’s the snap he needs to slip out of the shock.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Easy, easy,” he shouts out, and Roman draws back from the shot just barely. Voight steps in, and Mouse shuts his mouth, eyes flickering around the room, watching the nervous officers, waiting for his moment, and mostly waiting for Jay. He listens to what the man is saying, using the words to distract him from the press of the gun against his head, and remembers the twinge of passing sympathy he felt for this man, and in the sands a gun pointed at you meant enemy, but now all Mouse can hear is desperation.

There’s a moment, when the man drops the bag, sliding it towards Voight that Mouse feels the gun fall from his temple, the arm slip away from his neck and he thinks, _I could run_ , but he doesn’t. And the next second he’s caged tightly again and he thinks maybe he’s lost his mind with the death threat echoing in his ears, but he reassures Voight anyway. _Desperation, remember?_ Voight takes the bag and goes upstairs and Mouse feels the loss; Voight’s not a warm and fuzzy man, but Mouse respects him, trusts him. Platt, Roman, Burgess – they’re good police and Mouse likes them well enough, but they’re not _his_ people, not the way Intelligence has become, and the minutes alone with the sensation of the guns trained on him tick slowly.

And then – _are you in love with him?_ – Jay’s coming down the stairs, and Mouse can tell that he’s freaked, his eyes are wide and he’s pale. But seeing Jay hardens Mouse’s resolve. Even more than Intelligence, Jay is family, Jay is _his people_ , and it’s galvanizing, like that last second they would always check eyes before moving out with their unit. So when Jay asks if he’s all good, his answering “We’re cool,” is truer than when he said it to Voight. This he remembers how to do, because Jay is on the other side, and they know how this works together. He meets Jay’s eyes once more through the blinds, last glance, last nod, and then he’s alone with a man and a gun.

He pushes as much as he can at the man – _Frazier, Jeff Frazier_ – but he still knows when to quit, backing off into silence and counting his breaths, waiting on his unit. The wait stretches out, longer, longer, and they end up on the floor across from each other, Mouse studying his captor. Frazier, Jeff Frazier, handles the gun familiarly, carelessly, sweating with darting eyes, but steady hands. Finally Mouse decides it’s time to break the silence.

“When did you serve?” It doesn’t get him much, trading a little piece of his story for a little piece of Frazier’s, but it’s something. It will bind them together, the way it always does, shared service. Mouse has become more real in Frazier’s eyes, it would be harder for him to kill him. Although Mouse is increasingly sure he really doesn’t want to hurt him at all anyway – _but remember Hollingsworth?_ – so he leans back against the wall and keeps watching. Keeps waiting.

It’s increasingly unnerving, the kind-of silence between them, and the muffled chaos outside their isolation. And then Voight is calling through the door and Mouse stares at Frazier, willing him to listen. Frazier rises slowly, pulling Mouse up, hooking his arm once again around Mouse’s neck, and touching the gun back to his head. _Just listen to Voight Frazier._ But Mouse can tell that Frazier doesn’t trust Voight, believes it’s a ploy to get a gun on him. And maybe it is. But Erin shouts out next.

“You were right. Sarah didn't run away. She was kidnapped, along with this girl and at least three other girls we know of.” Erin’s voice is a relief he didn’t quite expect, more than Voight, and not only because it means that Jay is probably out there too. Frazier’s breath catches, Mouse can feel it in the man’s chest against his back. Mouse nudges aside the curtain, and Erin is the first thing he sees, and it’s a damn comforting sight after several hours in that lonely room. But Frazier still hesitates, until the battered girl – _are you in love with him?_ – speaks up, timid and quiet, and Frazier cracks the door, but when she starts she can’t seem to stop, speaking right over Frazier’s question, the words breaking her open in front of them. Frazier’s arm slips a little around him, and Mouse knows he wants to believe that they will find her, wants to hope that finally someone will help. Frazier edges little by little forward, until Mouse can see the whole room. SWAT and officers line the walls, _too many guns, too many guns_ , but – _are you in love with him?_ – Mouse focuses in on Jay. There he is, still, steady, focused, gun trained on Frazier, locking eyes with Mouse.  

Mouse sees Jay’s sideways glance at the SWAT guy on the stairs, follows his gaze to the familiar posture of a sniper steeled for the shot. He swallows, takes a breath, checks the room, and locks eyes again with Jay. _Ready._ He waits a beat, and Jay nods, just barely, just enough. Mouse plants his feet and _moves_ , and it’s been a while but he’ll never forget, never, and the gun is in his hand – _grab yank twist_ – and the grip is warm from Frazier’s hand, and there’s a freeze frame moment, just a split second because here he is again with a gun to someone’s father. And then everyone is moving, Jay’s rushing in and Mouse flicks the safety, hands up and out of the way and Frazier is in cuffs on his knees. And while everyone is still in motion Mouse makes a split second decision. His fingers still know the moves and he could do it in his sleep – one second he’s holding a gun, and the next it’s a hunk of empty metal, and he’s got a little extra loose change in his pockets. Jay turns to Mouse.

“What took you so long?” It comes out sharp and gruff, and someone else might mistake it for anger. Mouse knows better.

“I believed him.”

When the chaos settles, Mouse is surprisingly okay. The adrenaline wearing off leaves him with trembling fingers and a few shaky breaths, but Jay stands beside him, hand on his shoulder and it passes soon enough. Mouse watches Frazier being taken away to holding, head down. When the team leaves to find Ulrich, he sits at his desk a moment, staring at the screen. Then he’s pushing up out of his chair, down the stairs, pausing just a moment before rounding the corner to the holding cells.

“We’re not gonna stop looking for your daughter. I just wanted you to know.” He’s not expecting Frazier to say anything, but he does. And this is the reason he never went to that support group they gave him a pamphlet for when he came home, this right here, because don’t he and Jay have enough of the war to carry around with them already? And Frazier’s words are pressing on his chest, and he doesn’t need this, doesn’t want it, but he can’t bring himself to hate Frazier for it – _desperation, remember?_ It hurts and he can barely force the words out, but he does.

“We’re gonna find her. I give you my word.” And maybe that promise isn’t his to make, but he’ll make it anyway. He thinks it’s over then, and he starts to leave when Frazier speaks again.

“I’m sorry. For dragging you into this. Man to man.” And this time Mouse doesn’t have any words because there’s always been something about apologies like this that knock the wind out of him the most, and all he can do is nod and get out of there. The weight lifts the farther he gets from the holding cell, and back at his desk he can breathe again. It happens fast after that, and Frazier gets to hold his daughter again and Mouse leans back in his desk when he hears, and smiles.

When Voight calls him into his office later, he braces himself, slipping automatically into military posture.

“You did good in there today.” The compliment catches him a bit off guard.

“He wasn’t a killer, sir, just desperate.” And then Voight goes where Mouse was expecting. He waits, patiently, trying to keep his face impassive. He’s sure Voight has figured it out, but he’s not sure what he’ll do. So he says little – “It must have been empty the whole time” – and waits.

“Then go ahead and reflect that in your write up,” Voight says. And Mouse nods, unable to help the twitch of his lips in a smile, grateful and relieved.

“Yes Sargent.”

Of course Jay is waiting for him down in the tech room, passing him a beer as he comes in.

“Wasn’t loaded, huh?” Mouse almost chuckles, taking a swig of the beer before voicing the thought that had been swirling around all day.

“You uh, you remember when Hollingsworth got kidnapped by those hajis?” Jay raises his eyebrows, both a yes, and a ‘where are you going with this?’ Mouse puts down his beer, leaning over and pulling open the drawer, gathering up the clinking bullets. “When we finally tracked him down what did we do?” Jay nods.

“A lot worse than put a gun to someone’s head.” It’s not a happy memory, but he knows Jay understands. “Hey, to extenuating circumstances.”

They stay long enough to finish a couple of beers before heading home to their own apartments. Mouse is apprehensive about going to bed because he knows that at night things have a way of catching up to you, even if you didn’t know you were being chased. But he turns off the lights and bundles up in his blankets to mess around with a program he’s working on, and tells himself that it’ll be fine. He’s fiddling with a line of code that just won’t cooperate when the phone rings and he picks up, still clicking at the keys.

“Yeah.”

“Mouse, hey,” Jay says, something off in his voice. Mouse shoves the computer off his lap, sitting up straight. He’s confused, because he knows that Jay was feeling as okay as he was when they left, and it’s too early for any surprise nightmares to be the reason for the call.

“What’s going on?” he demands, ready to fling aside the blankets and leap out of bed.

“I’m fine, Mouse,” Jay placates, and Mouse relaxes ever so slightly back into the pillows. “I just got a call from Erin, passing along the heads up. There was a bomb planted in Voight’s car – nobody was hurt, but it was close. He was getting ready to go out to dinner with Justin, Olive, and the baby. Erin says our guy is almost definitely James Beckett, guy Voight put away years ago, just got out. We’re not doing anything till the morning, but be prepared – we’re not touching anything else until we get this bastard.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. You still doing okay?” Jay asks.

“Yeah, you?”

“I’m good.” Mouse huffs out a breath.

“Tomorrow’s gonna be a shitshow,” he says.

“I know. See you in the morning?”

“Yeah, goodnight Jay.”

“Night Mouse.”       

**AN: You know the drill: comments will make you my favorite person in the world**


	6. 6

Mouse doesn’t sleep well that night, but it’s not because of Frazier. It’s because he falls asleep thinking about car bombs. He’s grateful he doesn’t dream about the convoy, but what he does dream isn’t that much better.

_They’ve only been deployed a few weeks. They trained for this, but there’s no such thing as being ready for war and the sand stings their eyes, steals the moisture from their lips and Mouse can already tell that he will never love the beach the same way when he goes home. It’s not their first firefight – that was weeks ago, when he and Jay locked eyes beneath their helmets, boiling in the sun, nodded, and slid along walls as long as they could, silent desert ghosts, before they came upon the first enemy soldiers and the thunder of gunshots fractured the heat, and Mouse killed a man for the first time, and then the second time, and the third, and so did Jay, and they cleared the area, took their prisoners back and their captain said, “Well done soldiers,” and they went back to their tent, the one he and Jay shared and he dropped to his cot and stared at his hands, and Jay did the same and they were silent, so silent, but Mouse could still hear the echoing of the gun, and the thump of bodies hitting the ground and for a second he thought there was an earthquake before he realized it was just that he was shaking – no, it’s not their first firefight. But it’s the first time they lose a man, the first time Mouse sees one of his brothers, one of his unit, die. And he dies bloody, and brutal. They’re clearing a village – all the intel says it’s empty, but they come in in stealth, in the evening just before dark, but it’s dim enough that there are shadows for cover and they split once they enter the village, alpha team to the right, beta to the left. Jay and Mouse are on alpha team, Drew leading the way, Hollingsworth and Rev behind them, clearing the small huts that line the dirt streets. Mouse and Jay clear a hut, coming back out and moving to catch up with Drew, who’s a little ways ahead, towards another hut._

_There’s no warning, no ‘oh shit’ moment, time doesn’t stop, it’s not like the movies, Drew doesn’t look back in freezeframe horror, knowing what’s about to happen. There’s nothing like that. It’s just Mouse and Jay still 20 feet away in the silent drawing night and then the world splits and there’s a wave of heat kissing Mouse’s face and dirt flying and smoke and he’s on the ground tasting sand, sand, sand, and his ears ringing, ringing, ringing, and he’s coughing and struggling to his feet, Jay doing the same, guns up, ready for a fight but they can’t see anything in the smoke until a gust of wind blows some of it away and he and Jay are staggering forward and there’s a crater in the ground where Drew was supposed to be, a crater and a field of debris and Mouse nearly steps on a finger in the sand he can’t catch his breath and the sand is stained red red red and Jay is stumbling back, grasping at Mouse’s arm and they’re standing in a ring of human debris and Mouse turns and vomits in the sand as his hearing starts to return and Jay’s breathing ragged and close and hitching and Mouse knows that he’s crying and Hollingsworth and Rev come charging over, stunned to silence, when the first shot cracks through the sky, plowing into the sand near their feet, and they snap back into formation, ducking for cover and it’s not their first firefight but Mouse has never felt so angry, so sick, and they kill them all, guns and grenades, and they leave the village a smoldering graveyard in the dark because there’s nothing left of Drew to bring back with them, and it’s the first time Jay and Mouse end up sleeping in the same bed because Mouse wakes from his nightmare first, scrambling out of his cot to vomit in the garbage can and Jay jerks awake with a shout, crying and trembling and they end up huddled trying to hold the other together in the dark._

Mouse jerks awake, sweat-soaked and instantly chilled. He rolls to sit on the edge of the bed, breathing heavily and shivering, running a hand through damp hair. It’s not light out yet, his alarm clock reading 5 AM in bright red neon, but he knows from the sick feeling in his stomach and the tightness in his chest that there’s no going back to sleep tonight. He showers, rinsing the nightmare sweat, the gritty feeling of sand, off his skin, and slips into clean clothes. He curls up on his old couch with blankets and his laptop to go back to working on his program, but he can’t focus – it’s too quiet. He taps anxiously on the edge of the keyboard, listening to the rattling clunk of the heater – _why do I bother with that piece of crap, it doesn’t do a damn thing_ – before sighing and snapping the laptop shut. He packs up his things and heads out, swapping the chill of his apartment for the chill of the outside air, but when he shudders, it’s less because of the cold and more because of the shadows and the shape of the leaves on the pavement.

He walks up to his car, keys in hand – and stops. He stands, the strap of his bag digging lightly into his shoulder, the weight of it a lot like his rifle, and stares down at the keys in his hand, the handle of the door. It takes several deep breaths before he can bring himself to stick the key in the door and get in the car, and he feels jittery the whole drive.

It’s not Platt at the desk when he arrives; he’s pretty sure this woman’s name is Donovan, Andrea Donovan. He’s seen her before. This isn’t the first time he’s come into the district at unusual hours, unable to sleep. He nods to her as he passes.

“Hey!” He checks back over his shoulder, and finds that, yes, she is talking to him. He turns. “You’re the Intelligence tech guy, right?” He adjusts his bag on his shoulder.

“That’s me.”

She nods to herself.

“You got a new piece of equipment delivered? Some fancy board or something, came in a few hours ago, it’s up in Intelligence.”

“Oh, thanks.”

He scans in and heads up to find the digital board standing in the middle of the room. He’d forgotten about it actually. It’s a new piece of tech that the districts were thinking about investing in, and Mouse had put in a request for a trial one for Intelligence weeks ago. And now here it is. Perfect timing really, because it gives him something to do while waiting for the rest of the team to come in.

By the time 8 o’clock rolls around, Mouse has the ‘Intelli-board,’ as he’d decided to call it, up and running, and has started gathering and inputting all the information he can for their case. The sun is up, casting rays of light through the shades on the windows and he can hear the growing bustle of the district floating up the stairs. The team will be coming in soon.

It happens all at once; one moment it’s just him and the dust motes, and then there’s the metallic clank of the gate and Erin is emerging, nodding at Mouse on her way by. She drops her stuff at her desk, heading straight for the coffee, and then Jay breezes past, tossing out a greeting and disappearing momentarily into the back halls, followed by Alvin who is the first to notice the Intelli-board.

He was right – it is a shitshow. Everyone is on edge, riled up because Voight is, and because an attack on one of their people is an attack on all of them. It’s a long hard day, Mouse feeling the effect of his disrupted sleep as it drags on, but he’d learned long ago how to push through it. Sleep was a luxury in the sands.

He hears Molly’s being tossed around at the end, but with no case to focus on now, Mouse lets himself feel his exhaustion. He meets Jay’s eyes across the room, just a quick check – _Okay? Okay._ – before packing up and slipping down the stairs and out into the dimming light. At home, he clicks on the tv to the news, pulling open the fridge to stare inside. He needs to go grocery shopping – not tonight, but soon. For now though, he just wants something easy, something fast, settling on a stir-fry, tossing in whatever vegetables he has and the last of his frozen shrimp along with the rest of the package of glass noodles he’d bought. He’d never made stir-fry before a few weeks ago, but he was trying to be more adventurous so he’d found the recipe online and bought the ingredients on a whim. The whim turned out well - leading to a few more tentative steps forward in cooking, and stir-fry being added to his repertoire of easy good food – a much better result than the first whim of _maybe the drugs will help_ or _why not this little hacking job_ that led to… well. That led to an ugly place he didn’t like, a person he didn’t like.

After dinner, he considers working on his program some more, but doubts he’d make any progress, tired like this. Instead he flicks aimlessly through the channels on the tv, landing on a rerun of Mythbusters. It was one of his favorite shows as a kid – his dad would have it playing often while he worked, fiddling with some gadget or other while Mouse curled up on the ratty couch in the workshop, watching and breathing in the smell of the soldering iron and electrical tape. Mouse had liked to imagine that one day his dad would end up working on the show, making all the funky devices they needed to set up their experiments. Those were the parts of his dad that Mouse liked to remember – the callous- and burn-speckled hands with long pianist fingers, the ones just like Mouse’s; the way his blue eyes, just a shade darker than the ones Mouse got from his mother, were so focused when he stared down at the tiny metal bits he was transforming from useless pieces into a congruent whole; the way he’d ruffle Mouse’s hair absentmindedly when he passed; and the way he laughed, loud and full and free at his wife’s wry humour.

It was always so hard to reconcile these parts to the man he’d become when the Parkinson’s had set in, and those steady hands stopped being steady and he laughed sharp and cold and hard, if at all. Mouse wondered if his hands were steady when he poured out the pills and swallowed them, so that darkness would swallow him. 

The Mythbuster’s episode is a duct tape special, and Mouse is kind of relieved that it’s a rare episode where they don’t blow anything up. There’s a few bottles of beer, cold and fresh in his fridge, but Mouse leaves them there. When he starts to drift off, missing bits of the show, he flicks it off and heads to bed.

When the phone rings in the middle of the night, Mouse is groggy and confused. He’d been dreaming about the flight home when he and Jay were discharged, the sick pit in his stomach of certainty that something was going to happen because they couldn’t really be going home, and the sick pit in his stomach because something _had_ happened. But as his dreams go, this one isn’t so bad.

He knows that Jay was feeling fine at the end of the night although sometimes things change unexpectedly. But it’s not Jay on the other line when he answers with a grumbled “hello?” and it’s not Voight to say they caught a crime scene.

“Mouse,” Erin sighs. “Sorry, I know it’s late, actually it’s the middle of the night, but I just needed to check in.” Mouse thinks he must still be half asleep because he’s not really getting it.

“M’not at Jay’s Erin,” he mumbles, propping himself up on one arm.

“What? I know.” Mouse furrows his brows.

“Then, what…?”

“I meant – Mouse I meant I needed to check with you,” she says, caught somewhere between sounding like he should have known, obviously, and sudden timidity. Mouse sits up a little more fully, lips parting, and the line is silent, stretching between them for a moment. He frowns in confusion.

“Oh. Um, well, I’m okay.”

“Good, I’m – that’s good.” She pauses and Mouse thinks that might be the end of this odd moment and she’ll leave him completely bewildered when she blurts out, “It’s just that when Frazier had that gun on you it scared the shit out of me.” This catches Mouse quite off guard, and he doesn’t know what to say – this must be how she felt, weeks ago in Jay’s little kitchen. But like he did then, she goes on. “It’s just I never really got a chance to check in after because this whole thing with Voight and Beckett, and I mean I know that you were a soldier, like Jay, and that means you’ve…”

“Seen a lot of shit,” Mouse offers when she hesitates.

“Yeah. And so obviously you can handle yourself like we can, but… I’m used to Jay or Antonio or Voight being in danger, and it doesn’t make it less scary, but I’m prepared, you know? I expect it. And knowing that they can protect themselves is realer somehow. But that’s not you, to me. You’re Mouse, you work behind the scenes, and I’ve never considered… I wasn’t prepared for… for the possibility of losing you.” Mouse is a lot more awake now, but he’s still struggling to figure out where she’s coming from exactly.

“Because of what it would do to Jay, and because of Nadia,” he says, half to her, half to himself.

“Mouse, no. I mean, yes obviously, but no, Mouse. Because of _you._ Because I was terrified of losing you.” _Are you in love with him? Yes. Are you? Yes._ He lets that sink in a little, and she’s quiet on the other end of the line.

“Do you want to talk about the dreams?” he asks finally.

“How did you…?” She’s taken aback, confused, but he can tell he’s right.

“It’s the middle of the night, Erin. It’s not that hard to figure out, and I’m kind of used to it.” There’s a moment’s pause.

“I’m not sure I could even explain it if I tried,” she says quietly.

“Okay. Did you want to talk about anything else?”

“No, I think… I think I got what I needed. Goodnight Mouse.”

“Goodnight. And Erin?” He pauses to make sure she’s still on the line.

“Yeah?”

“Call any time.”

“Okay.”


	7. 7

In the morning he thinks maybe it was a dream, but he checks his phone and there it is – _2:45 AM – Call from Erin Lindsay_.  He gives his phone a bemused smile before going about his morning. He’s the first one in to the Intelligence floor once again, nodding to Platt at the front desk. He can feel her eyes following him up the stairs as he scans in. He sets the coffee pot to brew, leaving it to go click on his computers, running his fingers over the keys to enter his password. With the burbling of the coffee pot as background music, he runs through his morning routine, checking his e-mail, the news feeds, and running through all the latest arrest warrants, reports, BOLOs or any other police updates that have gone out since he left the night before.

It’s a fairly depressing way to start his morning, eyes flicking quickly through post after post of murders, robberies, arrests; but sometimes these are the details that will come back and help crack cases, so it’s worth it. He comes to the end, sighing as he lingers on the detached report – “5:27 AM. 153 Elgin St. Home invasion. 3 dead at the scene – Marianna Delieux (36), Caleb Delieux (38), Sam Delieux (5). Witness, sole survivor – Elissa Delieux (8). 6:04 AM. Three offenders in custody.” The coffee pot sputters, letting him know it’s finished, and he taps the keys as he stands taking him back to the main page. Plucking his favorite wide mug from the cupboard (Black with old computer type spelling out “Updating my Java Plugin”) he pours in the coffee and takes a sip. He scowls at the liquid.

“What did the coffee do to you?” Mouse glances up to see Erin leaning in the doorway, grinning.

“Same thing it always does – taste horrible,” he says, lowering his mug back to the counter and reaching into the cupboard to pull out another one (white, image of a big red sticker reading “Allergic to Bullshit”), which he fills as she walks over.

“Can’t argue with that,” she agrees, taking a sip and scrunching up her face. He chuckles, reaching for the sugar, watching the little crystals streaming into his coffee. When he finishes he hands the sugar to her and stirs his own, the spoon clinking off the ceramic of the mug. Then he lifts the mug back to his lips and takes a sip, wrinkling his nose.

“Ugh. This isn’t even coffee. Real coffee does not require sugar to be drinkable. Real coffee doesn’t have sugar at all.”

“Tell me about it. What is the point of all that mocha frappe whip shit? If you’re gonna drink coffee, drink coffee. Otherwise, drink hot chocolate or something.” Mouse snorts.

“Tell that to Jay, Mr. two-sugars-Mouse-I-can-tell-this-is-black-I’m-not-drinking-tar.” He catches Erin just as she’s taking a sip of her coffee and she almost chokes, pulling the mug away to chuckle. “Speak of the devil!” Erin turns as Jay wanders into the room raising an eyebrow.

“Clearly I missed something,” Jay says, eyes flicking back and forth between the two of them. Erin shakes her head smiling.

“Nothing at all. We were just talking about coffee.”

“Uh huh,” he scoffs at her, striding up and pulling a mug for himself out of the cupboard and pouring it full. Mouse grins behind his mug and he wanders back out into the bullpen where Ruzek and Atwater are pulling off their coats. They exchange nods on their way by and Mouse slides back into his seat, setting his coffee down beside the keyboard. He clicks over to the traffic cams, quartering one of his screens and setting them to his favorite busy intersections. Then he leans back and keeps sipping at his coffee, glancing up to see Erin and Jay joking about something, laughing as they part ways to their desks. As Erin turns, she meets his eyes across the room and smiles.

            Neither of them brings up the phone call as they run down leads on a double homicide that day, even when Mouse, Erin, and Jay all head over to Jay’s apartment and Mouse teaches them how to make fajitas and Erin brings a carton of mint chip ice cream, or the next day. But that evening, when he’s sitting on the couch after dinner ready to throw his laptop because this section of Javascript just won’t cooperate, the phone rings. He snatches it up, huffing an annoyed breath.

            “Hello?” It comes out sharper than he means.

            “Mouse? Everything okay?” Erin asks, and he can picture the high curve of one eyebrow on her face.

            “Oh, hey, sorry Erin. Just a line of code that refuses to work properly. What’s up?”

            “I was just thinking about what you said on the phone. Actually I’ve been thinking about it a lot.” She pauses, as though expecting him to interject, but he’s not sure where she’s heading and doesn’t have anything to add. After a moment she goes on. “What you said, about being ‘used to it’… I guess it just got me thinking, and I’m not sure exactly what you meant, but I just wanted to say that you can call me anytime too.” Mouse smiles to himself, pushing his hair back.

            “Thank you. Although I think you do know what I meant. It’s not exactly a leap,” he says staring at a blank patch of the wall. He can almost hear her shrug through the phone.

            “Maybe, maybe not. I guess I’m trying not to assume.” Mouse chuckles.

            “I thought being a cop was all about assuming?”

            “Tsk. Investigating, not assuming,” she says with mock indignation.

            “Uh huh, whatever you say Erin,” he says to her soft laughter, grinning. She falls quiet on the other end, sobering.

            “Seriously though Mouse, I’m here if you want.”  The way it feels, hearing this, is a lot like the moment he saw her when Frazier opened that door, and the way she said “I was terrified of losing you,” and standing in the kitchen with her and Jay laughing at the smudge of spices that Jay managed to get on his cheek.

            “That means a lot to me Erin. It’s been a long time since I’ve had this many people in my corner.” There’s a beat of silence where he worries he’s said something wrong before she speaks again, soft and gentle and sad.

            “I’m sorry that you were in a place where you didn’t have many people standing by you. I know it’s lonely. And it means a lot to have you in my corner too Mouse.” _Bam._ It’s like Frazier’s apology, but a hundred times stronger, and he can feel the pressure rising in his throat, a steel cord snapping into place around his chest and he closes his eyes and tries to breathe. But unlike with Frazier, there’s nowhere to run because Erin is on the other end of the line and he can’t hang up.

            “Mouse?” He’s been silent for too long, and she’s worried now, unsure, still so soft, still so gentle and he opens his mouth to try to say something, anything that will reassure her, let him get off the phone and ride this out because the first tear is already slipping down his cheek so it’s too late to cut it off at the knees, but he can’t make a sound.

            “Mouse, are you okay?” Higher pitch, tinged with fear, needles in his skin and he still can’t say anything, there’s something clawing inside his chest, a beast in a too-small cage because there is something closing in on his lungs.

            “Mouse, I need you to tell me that you’re okay.” Just a little bit breathless, louder, afraid, he tries to take another deep breath and it catches in his throat and it’s such a small sound, such a small, small sound.

            “I’m coming over.” A bustle of sounds over the line and he’s being held underwater, but a thought drifts over him – _You don’t know where I live –_ But he can’t say it of course, can’t say anything, can’t breathe, can’t move and then she’s talking again. “I have to hang up the phone now to drive Mouse, but I’ll be there soon, and if you don’t open the door I’m going to pick it, okay?” She waits a beat, and silence is all the answer Mouse can give her and then she’s gone and Mouse drops the phone to the couch looking past the swirling black dust at the edges of his vision to shaking fingers and he’s adrift alone with just the sounds of his thrumming heartbeat and panicked breathing – _gasp, gasp, gasp, gasp, not enough air._ It’s like trying to breathe in the middle of a cyclone, in the middle of a hurricane. He’s hunched over, shaking, limbs locked, muscles frozen and it feels like seconds and it feels like hours before he hears the staccato _tat tat tat_ on the door.

            “Mouse?” Erin calls loudly through the door, and something gets stuck in his throat, a choking gasp or cry or sob in between gasps for air, and then he can hear, just barely, the clicking scratch of lock picks in the door. The door swings open, the hinges creaking like they always do, and then snaps shut. She can’t see him from the door; it opens into the kitchen, and the small living room with his faded old couch is around a little wall. He can hear her footsteps over his own rasping breath, the dizzy ringing in his ears, just a few footsteps and he knows that she’s come around the corner. He can imagine the scene greeting her, a diagonal view, almost from behind of him curling in on himself, shaking, heaving shoulders with every fought-for breath on a ratty couch in a bare living room, and he wants so desperately to be okay right now, to not be this, but he can’t. She only pauses a moment and then he hears a quiet thump and faster footsteps and he’s still gasping, gasping, gasping, and she’s suddenly crouching on the floor at his knees, and he hears a sharp inhale from her and he squeezes his eyes shut and he’s so dizzy and his lungs are burning, pulse racing, _gasp, gasp, gasp, gasp, just breathe dammit!_

            “Hey, Mouse, it’s okay.” Soft and gentle, soft and gentle, _I’m sorry._ “Is this a panic attack, Mouse?” _Gasp, gasp, gasp,_ he swallows hard, trying - failing - to stop the frantic shallow hyperventilation, trying - succeeding - in giving a quick short nod, trembling, shaking fingers, damp cheeks, _breathebreathebreathe._ “Okay, Mouse, is it alright if I touch you?” _Yes_ , nod, quick and short and the only bit of control he has _breathebreathebreathebreathefuck_. The couch dips as she sinks into it beside him, and then there are warm hands on his own, steady fingers around his trembling ones and he’s suddenly aware of how cold he is, numb limbs, tingling pins and needles, he can’t feel his extremities except where Erin is holding his hands, rubbing small circles on them with gentle fingers. She moves one hand to his back, leaning in to share her steadying body heat, trying to almost wrap him in her arms. “It’s okay Mouse, everything’s okay,” she murmurs quietly.

            It’s hard to say if Erin’s presence helps the panic attack pass more quickly. It’s several long minutes before Mouse finally manages to start catching his breath, his body too exhausted to keep pushing the adrenaline. Control comes back slowly, like fighting quick sand, or walking through sludge waist deep, the tight band around his chest loosening bit by tiny bit until he can breathe again, until he can move again, and he brings still-numb hands up to rest his head in them, focusing on the sensation of breathing, waiting for the whirling fuzziness in his mind to clear. Erin stays quiet for a while, still. Finally she rubs her hand gently along his back, shifting in her seat.

            “Okay?” Soft and gentle. He nods silently, using one hand to push his hair back, sitting up a little, swiping the other across his cheeks. He sits a beat, then pushes to his feet, Erin’s arm dropping off his shoulders. He feels weak and shaky in his bones, in his muscles, the kind that comes with a fever, the kind that always lingers after a panic attack, and his hands are still tingling, like they always do. He shakes them out as he strides across the room, pacing, because he can. He presses the heel of one hand to his forehead, closes his eyes, swallows, opens, breathes deep, paces. Erin slips off her shoes and pulls her feet up on his couch and doesn’t hide the fact that she’s watching him. Mouse is glad of that – somehow it feels better, less awkward, than it would if she tried to be subtle.

            When he trusts his hands not to break anything, he goes to the kitchen, filling a glass of cold water and taking a long drink. Deep breath. He refills his glass, and another, and goes back to the couch, setting the second glass in front of Erin and sliding back down into the couch cushions. Deep breath. Finally he looks up and meets her eyes.

            “Hi.” A bit anti-climactic or inadequate or whatever, but it’s all he’s got at the moment, and it’s a place to start. As though she can’t help it, one corner of her lips tug upwards in a smile.

            “Hi.” She shifts to face him more directly, one leg tucked under herself. Her fingers tap restlessly on her knee. “Can you tell me what happened?” Blunt, to the point, he would have expected nothing less. But that doesn’t make it any easier to answer. He looks away, eyebrows knitting together. Opens his mouth and closes it again. “I’m sorry if it’s hard to talk about Mouse, but I think it was something I said, and I need to understand so that I don’t do it again accidentally.” He shuts his eyes for a moment before glancing back at her.

            “It’s not- it wasn’t your fault, Erin,” he says, voice slightly hoarse. He sees her glance away, take a breath, look back.

            “Okay.” She waits. Mouse presses one thumb to the pressure point between his eyebrows, runs that hand through his hair and meets her eyes again.

            “It was just… it has to do with what you said, about being sorry.” She doesn’t understand, that much is clear, but he didn’t expect her to. “It’s hard to explain and it has to do with a lot of complicated shit like my parents and Afghanistan, but the gist of it is that the most sincere apologies usually come with the most pain and I can’t disconnect the two.” He says it in a rush of breath and looks away. She’s silent for a moment.

            “Okay.” Like it’s easy.  Then, “It must suck.” He can’t help the startled laugh that follows that. Blunt and brash and exactly Erin. He looks back at her, perched on his crappy couch with a little smile. Gentle, but not soft, not pitying; gentle, and strong.

            “Yeah, it does.” Pause. “How did you know what to do?” Because she did – she knew what was happening, knew not to press, not to talk too much, knew to ask before doing anything, knew to be calm and unemotional, she knew.

            “Course in the Academy about how to talk to witnesses and victims, actually. It doesn’t happen as often as they make you think it will, but it’s happened a few times. Scared the shit out of me the first time; I was on my own talking to a witness and I thought I was gonna fuck up and make it worse, but I guess some of what they drilled into us stuck.”

            “I bet you were a natural,” he says, grinning. She laughs. “Also, how did you know where I live?” She brushes her hair back sheepishly.

            “I called Platt.” Mouse chuckles. “You can imagine how that went. She won’t be terribly pleased with how I shouted at her.”

            “She’ll get over it. You know she adores you.” Erin grins, then glances away biting her lip. Mouse swallows, bracing himself.

            “You can ask,” he says quietly. Erin looks sharply back at him. “I won’t promise to answer, but you can ask.” She stays silent a moment longer, eyes searching his face. His pulse jumps, but he doesn’t look away, and a moment later she speaks.

            “Do they happen often?” Mouse shrugs.

            “Depends on your definition of often. And since it’s usually directly related to a trigger, it’s unpredictable. Could go months without having one, and then have several in one month. They started after I got back from Afghanistan. The job helps. The panic attacks are dramatic, but sporadic. The anxiety is harder to shake.” Erin’s lips twitch into a slight frown.

            “I’m not sure I understand the difference.” Mouse pulls one leg up, turning to face her a bit more, fiddling with his hands in his lap.

            “The panic attacks, like I said, are dramatic, sporadic, and usually linked to specific triggers. They’re like… like being hit by a bus. The anxiety is… not constant, but closer to it. It’s like a pot sitting on a stove – sometimes the burner isn’t on, but a lot of the time it’s on low, enough that the water gets warm but isn’t disturbed, and sometimes it’s turned on a bit higher and the water starts to bubble, and every once in a while it’s on high and the water boils, which can turn into an anxiety attack, which is a lot like a panic attack. Some people don’t differentiate at all actually, but I think of them as separate things. I don’t know if that made any sense,” he says, frowning at his hands twisted up in his lap.

            “Kind of.” He glances up to see her watching him. “How do you do that?” She asks in an odd voice. Mouse would almost say it’s tinged with… wonder? Envy? He’s not sure, just like he’s not sure what she’s asking.

            “Do what?” She shakes her head a little.

            “Talk about it like that, so easily.” He looks back at his hands, lips involuntarily curling slightly up into a sarcastic smile.

            “Easy,” he repeats to himself. “Nothing about it is easy, Erin. Here.” He takes her hand, laying her fingers onto his wrist so she can feel the race of his pulse for herself. “It’s just that anxiety is so internal most of the time that it’s easy to pretend to be fine, even when you’re not. Especially when you’ve got as much practice as I do.”

            “But still, how do you…” she trails off, frowning down at their hands.

            “It gets easier with practice? I guess? I don’t know. For me it’s just - I guess I just have to make the decision, you know? It’s a lot harder if someone tries to bring it up themselves, tries to push me to talk or whatever. That’s when I get stuck.”

            “Like on the phone,” Erin interjects. “When I was asking if you were okay, and you didn’t say anything.”

            “Yeah, like that. But if it’s my choice, if I decide to talk… it’s not easy, but I do it anyway.” Erin pulls her hand away, turning and pulling her knees in to her chest.

            “You make it sound simple.” This time Mouse is sure that he hears envy in her voice as she stares at the ugly gray wall.

            “It isn’t simple. It never was. It’s taken years just to get to where I am, Erin, and there were a lot of bad choices along the way.” Erin glances back at him, meeting his gaze for a moment before looking away. Mouse waits, and though at some points it seems like she might be steeling herself to say something, she never does. Minutes pass, and Mouse notices her fingers turning white, digging into her knees. He breaks the silence.

            “You wanna watch something? I’ve got Netflix,” he says, reaching for the remote on the coffee table. Her fingers relax slightly, and he’s relieved by the return of colour to them.

            “Yeah, okay.” He clicks the remote, navigating until he’s greeted by the familiar grey screen and smiling icons. “Jay?”

            “Hmm?” Mouse glances over at Erin, who’s frowning slightly at the TV. He glances back, realizing she’s remarking on the blue icon labelled with Jay’s name. “Oh, yeah, we share an account. Why not, right?” He selects his green icon. “Anything in particular you wanna watch?”

            They hmm and haw for a little while – Mouse is hesitant to put forward suggestions because he worries she might agree with whatever it is even if she doesn’t want to watch it. He suspects Erin is doing the same. Finally Erin breaks down and says that she wants something light.

            “You seen How to Train Your Dragon?” Mouse asks when the selector alights on it. The skeptical look on her face answers the question for him, even before she speaks.

            “No…” He grins.

            “You’ll like it,” he says, clicking the play button. “Trust me.” He almost doesn’t hear her response, murmured quietly like it is more to herself that directed at him.

            “I do.”

            He’s right about the movie – Erin does like it. As the credits open Mouse gets up and flicks off the lights, then pulls up the blankets that had fallen to the floor earlier and drapes them over the both of them. Erin burrows into the blankets and Mouse pulls his legs up to sit cross legged. They watch quietly, Mouse glancing over sometimes, pleased to see Erin smiling. When the end credits roll, Erin leans back and looks over grinning.

            “I admit, I had my doubts, but that was good.” Mouse smiles triumphantly.

            “Another victorious conversion for the animated films,” he declares. “I’ve always been a sucker for them.” Erin glances at her watch, sighing and rocking up off the couch to stretch.

            “I should head home.” Mouse nods, unfurling his legs and standing in one smooth motion, bunching up the blanket and tossing it on the couch. The room is barely lit by the TV, still scrolling the credits. He strides over and hits the light switch, blinking owlishly in the sudden brightness. Erin rubs at her eyes carefully and wanders over towards the door. Mouse moves over to lean against the wall as Erin pulls her shoes back on and scoops her coat and purse off the floor where she’d dropped them. When she straightens up with her things in her arms, she hesitates, meeting his eyes uncertainly. He steps forward off the wall.

            “Thank you, Erin. For coming… and everything.” Her lips curl upwards, and she glances down and away for a moment, more like a reflex than anything else, before looking back.

            “Anytime. And I mean that literally, okay? You need anything you call. Or if you don’t need anything, you can still call,” she says earnestly, eyes flickering over his face, studying him. He nods.

            “Okay. But it goes both ways. You ever need anything, or you decide you want to talk, or whatever. You know where to find me.” Erin smiles, surprising him as she steps forward and takes his hand, squeezing once.

            “Goodnight Mouse.” Then she withdraws, tossing one last smile over her shoulder as the door clicks shut.

 


	8. 8

It’s only when he’s turning out the lights that night that Mouse thinks to wonder why Erin didn’t call Jay when she thought something was wrong, to find out where he lives, or once she arrived and found out what was happening. He turns his cell phone over and over in his hands – _you need anything you call_. He scrolls through his short contact list, thumb hovering over Erin’s name, hating the way the centimeter between his skin and the screen becomes an ocean pressing on his chest and rapids in his veins. He sighs, and hits the home button, dropping the phone to his lap. A moment later he picks it back up and hits speed dial. It rings once, twice, half of a third –

            “Hey, Mouse, just a sec, brushing my teeth.”

            “Okay.” There’s a slight clatter as Jay puts down the phone on the counter, then the rush of water and splashes, the clink of the toothbrush into its holder.

            “Okay, what’s up?” Mouse stalls out, opening his mouth without knowing what is supposed to come out. What he told Erin was true – it’s never easy or simple, not even with Jay. There’s a beat of silence before Jay jumps in again. “So did you hear that Voight is finally letting Erin move back into her apartment?” Mouse takes a breath, smiling gratefully.

            “No, she didn’t mention it. That’s good news.” He pauses, then goes on. “She called me today.”

            “Yeah?” Jay sounds intrigued, but actually less surprised that Mouse might have expected.

            “Yeah. She actually called a few days ago first. I guess the Frazier thing rattled her and she wanted to check in.”

            “I never even thought…” Jay trails off.

            “Neither did I,” Mouse cuts in. “I was confused at first when she called. But she kind of explained it and it makes sense. She said that even though she knew I’d been a soldier she’d never thought of me that way – she’s only ever seen me in the context of my tech stuff so it never clicked that I can take care of myself. And she’d never really considered that I’d end up in danger.”

            “That’s so weird.” Mouse raises an eyebrow before Jay rushes on. “I mean, it makes total sense, but I guess it’s just so weird thinking that the team sees you as a civilian, you know?”

            “Except maybe Olinsky,” Mouse interjects, thinking of the appraising look he sometimes catches that would probably be unsettling coming from anyone else. 

            “Yeah, but that kind of comes back to the soldier thing, right? Plus Al is just Al, you know?” Mouse snorts slightly.

            “I’m starting to.”

            “So then Erin called again earlier tonight?”

            “Yeah.” Mouse glances at the window, blinds lit up by stoplights and streetlights and city lights. _New York’s not the only city that never sleeps._ “I had mentioned the first time that she could call anytime, and she’d been thinking about something else I said and… I guess she wanted to return the favor? You know, extend the same offer, and then she kinda… stumbled onto…” Mouse taps his fingers against his knee anxiously.

            “A trigger,” Jay finishes for him, concern colouring his voice.

            “Yeah,” Mouse sighs.

            “A bad one?”

            “Bad enough.”

            “And how are you now?”

            “I’m okay.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Okay. So what happened, with Erin?” Jay redirects.

            “She didn’t know, you know? But I couldn’t – I mean you know how – she kept asking if I was okay. And I couldn’t hang up, but I couldn’t… eventually she just… she just says ‘I’m coming over,’ and that she has to hang up to drive but she’ll be here soon and if I don’t answer the door she’s gonna pick it. And she called Platt to find out where I live, and came.” He pauses to breathe, but Jay doesn’t interrupt. “She knew what to do – better than you the first time,” Mouse adds smiling just a little. He hears Jay chuckle quietly. “She asked, after. Obviously. Who wouldn’t? And I told her, some of it. And then she asked… she asked me how I do it. How I talk about it so ‘easily.”

            “And what’d you tell her?”

            “The truth.” He wants to tell Jay how Erin was envious, how she gripped her knees with white hands and wrestled with things she didn’t say. He wants to, but he doesn’t, because it’s not his place. “Then we watched How to Train Your Dragon.”

            Jay laughs. “Of course you did. She liked it?”

            “Obviously. Everyone loves dragons.” Mouse grins for a moment before sobering. “It’s just… I can’t stop wondering why she didn’t call you.” Jay is silent for a beat on the other line.

            “I don’t know,” he says finally. “You could ask – she did say you could call anytime, right?”

            “I thought about it, but I just…” Mouse sighs.

            “Well, someday you will.”  

            “Yeah. Yeah, maybe.” Mouse pauses. “Hey, Jay? She’s a good listener.”

            “Mouse,” Jay says tiredly, with resignation and just a little bit of warning, just as Mouse knew he would.

            “I know. Just think about it, okay?”

            “Yeah,” Jay sighs. “You’re sure you’re doing okay?”

            “Yeah, I’m okay Jay.”

            “Okay. Call if you need me.”

            “Always. Goodnight.”

            “Night.”

            Mouse hangs up, staring at the phone in his hands for a moment before clicking it off and putting it on the nightstand. He clicks off the lamp and lays back, falling asleep staring up at slivers of flickering lights on the ceiling from the window.

            He dreams in flickers and fragments. _Sand – Collins’ terrified face – Drew laughing at a joke someone told – a bottle of pills and a dirty warehouse and fumbling hands – white white walls and scratchy blankets – the snap of rapid fire – darkness and the smell of wet burlap – fireworks at the Fourth of July and panic – Jay’s red-raw fists – breath-snatching crack punch of a bullet to the vest – the smell of burning flesh – blinding sting of black smoke – Rev half turned in his seat to talk to them in the back, laughing and smiling – Jay strung up on his computer screen – his father’s lips, blue to match his eyes – spitting blood from his mouth like wishing well pennies – stale air in aching lungs and the long flight home – blue on blue last nod before battle – chafing flakes of cold rusted chains on wrists –_

            Mouse wakes in the night once, heart thrumming, shivering. He stares at the window, catching his breath, then rolls over without looking at the phone and slips back into confused fragments of nightmares.


	9. 9

After the marathon of two intense and bizarre cases back-to-back, he hears the news from Will first.

            He knows that at least some of the unit are heading to Molly’s to decompress after the craziness, and he waves them off on his way to the tech room to put away some equipment. He didn’t sleep well the night before, or at all really, and has been assiduously ignoring the low headache that has been hanging behind his eyes all day – no need to add alcohol and loud bar noise to the mix. He flops into his chair and wakes up the monitors, connecting to his upstairs computer and clicking through to close up and file away everything from the day until he’s left with nothing but the traffic cams. He watches the flow of cars, rubbing small circles at his temple, but the silence pulses in his brain. He’s tired and the headache is pressing on him, but he feels restless. Finally he sighs, turning off the computers and gathering his things, switching off the lights and pulling the clanking door shut behind him. He slides behind the wheel of his car, and considers going home, but pulls out of the lot in the other direction instead.

            When he walks into Molly’s there’s a good crowd and he scans it for Jay as he meanders farther into the bustle. He doesn’t see him, or Erin, but he does see Will nursing a beer, and Will sees him, tossing up a hand to beckon and calling out.

            “Mouse!”

He nods, stopping by the bar to get a beer from Hermann before sliding onto a stool opposite Jay’s brother. Beyond all the stories he’s heard from Jay, he doesn’t really know Will that well. Mouse met Will last of all the Halsteads.

He had made the trip off base with Jay to Chicago more than once between tours. Jay and his dad were still on speaking terms then, if only because they couldn’t bear to upset Jay’s mother. Mouse got the feeling the only reason Jay’s dad tolerated him coming with Jay was because Jay’s mother liked him so much.

Jay left message after message for Will at the doctor’s base in the Sudan, telling him to come home and see their mother; Will never answered. Eventually Jay gave up trying, and then they got the call: the doctors thought she wouldn’t make it through the night, so it was time to say his goodbyes. Jay stood still in the middle of the room, staring hollowly at the wall while Mouse packed their bags.

            Jay held her hand as the beep of the monitor slowed, and Mouse held his. Mouse swallowed through a lump in his throat as the room was filled with the piercing cry of the flat-line, reminding him of the scream of an airstrike and he waited for the explosion. Jay didn’t move as the nurse disconnected the monitor, leaving them in echoing silence. Then he stood abruptly, stalking into the hall. Mouse followed with a last backward glance at Jay’s father on the other side of the bed, still holding his wife’s hand, staring un-movingly at her face.

            He followed Jay down the hall to the empty stairwell where Jay pulled out his phone and dialed robotically. Maybe it was some kind of cosmic joke, because of all times, this was the one where the second ring was cut off midway through and it was Will’s voice that answered.

            “Hello?”

            Jay froze for a moment.

            “Hello?” Will repeated, and Jay’s lips pressed into a thin line before he spoke, hollowed out and blank.

            “She’s gone. I hope it was worth it.” Then he hung up, arms dropping to the side, still and silent and empty-eyed and Mouse felt like holding his breath. And finally the explosion – Jay’s arm whipped up, hurling the phone against the far wall where it shattered, clattering to the ground in pieces. Jay stood, chest heaving, before sliding to the floor, and Mouse dropped down beside him and grief echoed in the empty space of the stairs.

            Will didn’t come to the funeral. Mouse stood by Jay until it came time to sit for the eulogy, and he made to slide into a pew, but Jay tugged his arm and brought him to the front and Mouse sat beside him in the family section gripping his hand and he kept thinking that this should have been Will’s seat, Will’s hand, and it should have been Will all along standing by his brother.

            They stayed for all the services; Jay gracefully and stoically accepted the consolations of his mother’s friends – and the once vibrant woman had many – and when they left, Jay didn’t say goodbye to his father. They didn’t speak again until after the next tour (the last tour), and it ended badly, and the rift of silence grew wider. Jay didn’t speak to Will until after the tour either, when Will came bounding in after everything, after Jay had been put back together, and pretended nothing had ever been wrong, and Jay let him. Will only stayed a few days, disappearing back to New York, and Mouse didn’t see him again until Will came back to Chicago for good.

            He thought that he would hate the younger Halstead for what he’d done to Jay, to their mother, hate him because Jay couldn’t. But Jay had told him the good stories in with the bitter ones, Jay had told him the best stories in the darkest places and when he met Will again all he could think of was Jay smiling in the middle of hell.

            Now he takes a swig of his beer and smiles.

            “Hey Will, how’s it going?”

            “Good, good. Hear you guys had a wild one.”

            “Yeah, guy thought he was CIA, running a whole operation in a delusion.”

            “Man, that’s crazy.” Mouse nods, glancing around the bar again.

            “Jay here?”

            Will shakes his head, breaking into a gleefully mischievous grin.

            “He and Erin left a few minutes ago. And from the kiss we saw, it looks like he finally snagged the girl.”

            The gut punch of the words are everything and nothing like what Mouse expected. It’s not like he isn’t prepared, not like he didn’t see it coming, not like he’s not used to it. But he still feels suddenly breathlessly lonely in the middle of the crowd. And the worst part is that even as it hurts like hell, he’s happy. Jay deserves this, and so does Erin.

Will, of course, doesn’t see any of this. He sees what Mouse shows him, which is a curling smirk, and the words “About damn time.”


	10. 10

 As soon as he hears that it’s a possible school shooting case, his stomach starts to curl into an anxious knot. Mouse watches Jay grab his coat, nodding as he and Erin pass by to head down the stairs, shoulder to shoulder, faces grim. The bullpen empties out and Mouse starts pulling up everything he can find about Webster Country Day, scrolling through the school website and digging into Colin. He can’t help glancing at the phone every few minutes, willing it to ring with an update.

            A bomb and the possible suicide of a 15 year old scholarship loner from a rich kid school is not the update that he wanted. And it only gets worse from there, when the ping on Ethan’s phone leads to a van spray painted with the word ‘pedophile’ in slashing angry red. He watches Jay lead Ethan to the interview room, body seeming to curve like he could wrap around the kid and protect him, and the knot pulls tighter, and tighter still at the look on Jay’s face when he walks back out of the interview room and Mouse knows the spray paint wasn’t just a word. He braces himself to stand, but then Erin is there, hand lightly on Jay’s arm, leaning towards each other, and he sits back.

            It didn’t take long for the gossip to spread through the precinct. The morning after his drink with Will, Mouse came in to find Ruzek and Atwater already there, looking like they’d just arrived, and talking animatedly. When they saw him, Ruzek had grinned and called out.

            “Mouse! You hear the news?”

            Mouse had grinned and joked and laughed with the rest when Jay and Erin walked in together, firing back deflections at their rowdy teammates, but the smiles never left their faces. Everyone shut their mouths when Voight walked in, but Mouse was sure that Voight knew, and equally sure that Jay and Erin knew he knew, and also pretty sure that both parties were absolutely okay with the situation.

            Everyone had settled into their desks after that, though Ruzek kept shooting looks at Jay and Erin, who studiously ignored him. Mouse turned back to his computers, scrolling through the updates and calls from overnight and going about the rest of his morning routine. He looked up at the quiet _thunk_ of a coffee cup beside his keyboard and found Erin standing beside his desk. She curled her hands around her own coffee cup and met his eyes, soft and gentle and strong – _are you in love with him? yes_ – and he reached out and picked up the mug and smiled, holding her gaze.

            A stranger watching the unit might not even know Jay and Erin were dating; whether because of Voight, or just their own preference they kept their personal lives out of the precinct except for glances and the occasional small touch. They were more affectionate at Molly’s, though Mouse would occasionally feel Erin’s eyes on him. If he caught her, he’d toss her a smile and she’d smile back and they’d move on.

            The dinners that had started after the Keyes case had begun to peter out a little while before, then stopped entirely. It wasn’t like Jay abandoned him, never that. They still had their evenings in the tech room drinking beer, watching a game, and talking; still had random phone calls sometimes in the evening to talk about anything or everything; still got each other coffee or lunch, even Erin. But it was starting to feel a lot like things were reverting to how they’d been before Erin and Mouse took tentative steps towards friends beyond the office, before the three of them felt like a unit of their own, and when Mouse would watch them walking out of Molly’s, arms around shoulders and waist, he missed them.

            Now he watches when Jay comes out of the break room pale and angry and pained, catching his breath as he picks up his coat, and he watches as Erin curves around him and Jay lets her. _This is a good thing. This is exactly what you wanted for him, what you told him to do. This is good._ And even though it aches a little, he believes this wholeheartedly, even as his skin feels cold as they walk away.

            He breathes a little easier when they get their guy, but he knows Jay is going to talk to Ethan and his mom, and Mouse heads home with the anxious knot still tangled up. He tries futilely to ignore it, fiddling with a bit of programming.

            He’s just about to start making dinner when his phone rings, _Erin Lindsay_ popping up on the screen and his stomach drops.

            “Hello?” He sounds breathless, and Erin must pick up on it because the first thing she says isn’t a greeting.

            “He’s okay Mouse.” Mouse sighs in relief.

            “Thanks. So what’s up?”

            “You haven’t eaten yet, have you?” Erin asks, and Mouse furrows his brows a bit at the question.

            “No…”

            “Good, come to Jay’s, we’re making curry.”

            “Um.”

            “See you in, what? Ten, fifteen minutes?”

            “Uh, yeah, about that.”

            “Okay, bye.” She hangs up and Mouse pulls the phone away from his ear to stare at in bewilderedly. Then he shakes his head, shrugging, and shuts his laptop, grabbing his coat and heading out the door.

            He lets himself in when he gets there, greeted by the sound of Arctic Monkeys and laughter. In the kitchen, Erin is leaning on the counter, head resting on one hand, laughing and shaking her head while Jay chuckles at her. Erin spots him first, straightening up with a grin, and Jay turns. Mouse raises an eyebrow at them.

            “What’s the joke?”

            “Erin,” Jay says, grinning widely, “is having a hard time cutting the carrots.” Erin swats at Jay’s shoulder.

            “It’s not my fault.” She looks back at Mouse. “They just keep jumping off the cutting board.” Mouse grins, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it on one of the chairs.

            “They do that. Here, I’m pretty good at keeping them out of the air.”

            They slip easily back into being together in the kitchen, laughing and talking as they slice, dice, and stir. Mouse’s worries about feeling like an intruder on their night slip away, even as he watches Jay press a kiss to Erin’s cheek, or her hand resting on his back.

            After dinner they stay sitting around the kitchen table with their beers, and somehow they’ve ended up telling Erin stories from their army training. The kind of stories that used to be traded between units at base camp between missions, or by drunk soldiers in the bar between tours; the kind of stories they haven’t told since they became the kind of stories told after funerals.

            “So it’s our first week of Ranger training, and Baruque pulls us all out of bed at 3 in the morning to run the obstacle course in the dark,” Jay is saying, and Mouse cuts in to continue.

            “And you run it in two lines, like you’re in pairs, and most of the guys just get in line however cause they don’t know each other, but Jay and I are already friends from basic training, so obviously we pair up.”

Jay takes back over, Erin listening intently as she sips at her beer, grinning.

            “And we’ve ended up at the front of the line so we take off when he blows the horn, you know, and everything’s going fine, we get over the wall, under the wire, up another wall and across the wire, whatever, we keep going and we’re almost to the end when we get to the tires, easy obstacle right?”

            “And we’re a little ahead of the rest of the group, not much, but a little, and we’re almost through the tires when we hear this thump, and there’s some shouting and more thumps.”

            “Oh no,” Erin says.

            “Oh yes,” Mouse grins. “We turn around -”

            “And the guy behind me,” Jay pauses for dramatic effect. “Has tripped, right across the tires, taking down not only the guy beside him, but half the guys in the line behind him.”

            “And there’s us, and we’re all dripping mud of course, in the middle of the night, standing there with all these guys in a tangled heap behind us.”

            “Oh my god,” Erin laughs. “What did Baruque do?”

            “Oh, he was not happy,” Jay says, and Mouse snorts a little at the understatement. “Made us run the obstacle course till the sun came up.”

            “The guy who fell decided that Ranger School was not for him and left that day.”

            “Wow,” Erin says, shaking her head. “It sounds intense.”

            “It is.” Jay nods, suddenly sombre, spinning his beer bottle absentmindedly.

            “61 days of rigorous physical training, two meals a day and never more than 4 hours of sleep,” Mouse says, taking a swig of his beer. “Graduation is about 50%.” 

            “That’s insane,” Erin says with wide eyes flicking between Mouse and Jay. Jay and Mouse share a glance before Jay speaks.

            “That’s war.”

            Erin doesn’t quite seem to know what to say to that. They sit in silence for a moment, Erin frowning at the table before Jay speaks again.

            “Why did we stop doing this?”

            Erin wrinkles up her nose and shrugs. Mouse shrugs as well, wondering if Erin is thinking anything like what he is – _are you in love with him? yes. Are you? yes –_ and tosses out, “I dunno. Life got in the way?” Jay pulls a face.

            “That’s a stupid reason.”

            “Well then, I propose,” Erin says with mock pomp, raising her bottle, “that we plan to do this at least once a week from now on.”

            “Motion seconded,” Jay grins raising his bottle as well. Warmth blooms in Mouse’s chest and he raises his bottle to the center of the table.

            “Motion passed,” he declares, grinning as the three of them clink bottles cheering and laughing, sombre moment forgotten.


	11. 11

They relocate to the living room with fresh beers after cleaning up the kitchen. Erin plops onto the couch, Jay beside her, and Mouse moves towards an armchair before Jay tugs him onto the couch beside them. They deliberate about watching something or playing something, bantering back and forth before Mouse thinks of something.

            “You know,” he begins slowly. “There’s a ‘How to Train Your Dragon 2’, and it’s on Netflix.” Both Jay and Erin laugh.

            “It’s settled, then,” Erin says, reaching for the TV remote.

            By the time the movie is done, they’re all beginning to fade, trading yawns in the dim limbo post-movie feeling as the credits slide along the screen.

            “You staying, Mouse?” Jay asks sleepily. Mouse looks at his watch, groaning at the thought of getting back in his car.

            “Hadn’t been planning on it, didn’t bring my stuff.”

            “What do you need that you don’t have here? You know I’ve got stuff of yours in my closet.”

            “Mmm, fair enough. M’kay.” Mouse pushes up off the couch, gathering up their beer bottles and taking them to the kitchen, followed by Jay, who grabs glasses and fills them with water while Erin leans against the doorway. Mouse tosses the beer bottles in the recycling then heads to the closet where he pulls out the stack of extra bedding and starts setting up the couch. Jay passes by, setting one water glass on the coffee table and continuing on to the bedroom with the other two. Erin lingers in the living room, and Mouse knows what’s she’s going to say before she says it.

            “You know, I could-”

            “You’re not taking the couch, Erin.” She looks at him for a moment before nodding.

            “Okay.”

            Mouse wakes still in darkness, only disoriented a moment before he realizes why he woke up, shifting up automatically to let Jay sit on the couch beside him. He grabs the remote off the table, clicking on the TV and handing the remote to Jay while he repositions himself more comfortably. Jay scrolls through the channels before landing on an old documentary about the owners of two pet cemeteries. They watch in silence for a while.

            “His dad died in Afghanistan,” Jay says suddenly.

            “Ethan?”

            “Yeah. He asked me the question. How I dealt with it.”

            “Is there something wrong with that question?” Erin’s voice drifts softly from the doorway, where she stands disheveled from sleep. Mouse watches Jay carefully to see how he’ll react. Mouse wants to tell Erin to come join them, but this is Jay’s choice.

            “Hey,” Jay says quietly, hesitating before continuing. “Come sit.” Mouse fights back a smile as Erin pads over and they shuffle to let Erin slip under the blankets on the couch beside Jay. Jay doesn’t say anything more for a little while, but Mouse is pleased to see that Erin doesn’t press. “I just don’t like that question. Neither of us do.”

            Erin lets that sit for a moment.

            “Why?”

            “Because people only ask when they’re in pain. And they want a roadmap or an easy answer that I don’t have. And…” Jay trails off, frowning, and looks over at Mouse.

            “And sometimes it’s like they’re assuming that we’ve moved passed it, like we’re over it and that feels a lot like being put on a pedestal where we’re not allowed to still be hurting.” He can’t see Erin’s face, but she doesn’t say anything for a long time.

            “What are we watching?” she asks finally, staring in confusion at the screen. Jay chuckles slightly.

            “It’s a documentary about pet cemeteries.”

            “Huh.” Erin falls silent, and Mouse imagines her making a bewildered face at the screen.

            “What did you tell Ethan?” Mouse asks after a while.

            “That I try to remember that they made a sacrifice so I could come home, and live.”

            “Not what you told me when I asked,” Erin says softly. Jay chuckles.

            “You don’t tell a 15 year old kid that you took it out on people who didn’t deserve it. But they’re both true.” They all fall quiet again, snuggled into the couch and watching the screen. Mouse tangles his fingers in the blanket, trying to figure out how Erin’s presence has changed, or not changed, the feel of these kinds of nights. The words he’s had waiting on his tongue from the moment Jay sat on the couch press up against his lips in the dark.

            “I was dreaming about the little girl we found the week after Collins died. The one who’d been raped and stabbed and left to die.” He’s almost whispering to the dark and he hears a sharp inhale from Erin. Jay gently takes his hands, untwisting them from the blanket. He wonders what Erin thinks of this – not Jay holding his hands, not even really what he said, but all of this, he and Jay and the way she must know that these nights of long silences and fragmented confessions are their strange norm.

            “I thought…” Erin hesitates, takes a deep breath and goes on, barely above a whisper herself. “I thought that it should have been me. In Nadia’s place. And I think… I think part of me felt that if I couldn’t die instead of her, maybe dying with her was the next best thing.” Her voice shakes as she gets to the end, knees pulled up to her chest, and Mouse hears Jay’s breath catch in his throat, and he closes his eyes for a moment at the swell of emotion her words cause. They all let the words hang in the air for a moment, adjusting to their weight.

            “Do you still feel like that?” Mouse asks tentatively.

            “No.”

            “I’m glad.”


	12. 12

After Erin’s confession, they had all fallen silent again, Jay wrapping an arm around Erin, and sat until Jay squeezed Mouse’s hand and stood, leading Erin back to bed. Mouse had clicked off the documentary unfinished and drifted back to sleep.

            He rolls out of bed in the morning, brushing off the memory of vague and undefined nightmares and wanders into the kitchen to start the coffee.

            “Morning,” Jay says, walking in and grabbing three mugs out of the cupboard.

            “Morning. You got breakfast food?”

            “Eggs in the fridge, bread, I think I’ve got bagels. There’s yogurt, but Erin might shoot you if you eat it.” Jay grins, pulling a pan out of the cupboard. Mouse grabs the half bag of bagels. “Grab the bread too?” Jay asks.

            Mouse is just putting his bagel in the toaster, Jay cracking eggs into the pan, and the coffee sputtering to signal it’s almost ready when Erin’s arrival in the kitchen is prefaced by a distant beeping drone. She walks in, running a hand through her hair and beelines for the fridge, pulling out the container of yogurt.

            “Morning,” she says.

            “Morning,” Jay and Mouse answer back in stereo. Mouse pours the coffee, waiting for his bagel while Jay flips his eggs and Erin spoons out a bowl of yogurt.

            “So I’m finally gonna ask,” Erin says when they’re gathered around the table eating their breakfast, “how is it I never hear your alarms go off?”

            Mouse raises an eyebrow and looks at Jay.

            “You didn’t tell her about the implants?”

            “The what now?”

            Jay rolls his eyes.

            “Pay no attention to Mouse’s terrible attempt at a cyborg joke.”

            “Wizard of Oz? That’s the best you could come up with?” Mouse fires back.

            “Oh, shut up.” Jay turns back to Erin. “You don’t hear them cause they don’t usually go off.” Erin raises an eyebrow at this vague explanation. 

            “Which is to say,” Mouse interjects, “that we do set alarms, but we usually wake up before them and turn them off.” Mouse shrugs. Erin wrinkles up her nose and makes a face.

            “Ugh. Morning people. You guys are weird.”

            “Not by choice,” Jay says with a chuckle. “Just never managed to break the habit after we came back.” Despite the light tone of Jay’s voice, this causes hesitation to flicker across Erin’s face.

            “Terrible for hangovers,” Mouse says, nibbling on his bagel, “but very good for weekend productivity.”

            Jay snorts.

            “When was the last time you had a hangover?”

            Mouse rolls his eyes.

            “I was speaking hypothetically.”

            “And you’re telling me you don’t just get up and binge watch TV shows in the morning on weekends.”

            “Well, now you’re just being rude. Sometimes I read books.” Mouse mock glares at Jay before grinning, glancing over to see Erin leaning back in her chair with an odd little smile.

            “What?” Jays asks. Erin shakes her head, curling her hands around her coffee mug.

            “Nothing. It’s just, this. You guys, like this.” She shrugs, glancing down at her hands. “It makes me happy.” Mouse shares a look with Jay before turning back to Erin. She peeks back up, greeted by wide grins on both their faces. “Oh, my god. Do not look at me like that!”

            “Cheesy,” Jay laughs.

            “The cheesiest,” Mouse adds. Erin pushes back her chair, struggling to keep a straight stern face.

            “Shut up.”

            “Cheddar,” Jay calls out as she drops her mug and bowl into the sink.

            “Mozarella.”

            “Swiss.”

            “Brie.”

            “Asiago.” Jay and Mouse trade cheeses, increasing in volume as Erin swishes out of the kitchen.

            “See if I ever say anything nice to you guys again!” Erin shouts from the other room.

            “Parmesan!”

            “Gouda!”


	13. 13

Once the three of them are ready, they all gather up their things and wander out together, until they get to the parking lot, where they pause.

            “We’re not really gonna take three different cars to get to the same place, are we?” Mouse says finally, rubbing at the back of his neck.

            “I’m driving,” Erin declares, swinging her keys around her finger and leading them to her car.

            “Nothing new there,” Jay chuckles as he and Mouse follow behind her. Mouse slides into the backseat, tossing his bag beside him while Jay and Erin climb into the front.

            When they walk into the precinct, it’s in the middle of a lively laughing debate about old movies – Jay loves them, Erin is on the fence, and Mouse can’t stand the bad film quality and special effects.

            “I tried to watch the old Doctor Who,” Mouse is saying as they climb the stairs, “but the special effects were just so painful!”

            “And I know how you feel about Doctor Who,” Jay laughs.

            “Okay, what is Doctor Who even about?”

            Mouse turns to look at Erin, mouth agape. She raises her eyebrows, waiting. When he doesn’t reply, she reaches out and pokes him.

            “Jay, I think I broke Mouse.” Jay laughs.

            “How can you not even know what Doctor Who is?” Mouse exclaims finally “Do you live under a rock?”

            “Maybe it’s called having a life,” Erin retorts, grinning.

            “Hey, I have a life.”

            “No, you don’t,” Jay interjects, clapping him on the shoulder as they turn to head up the stairs to Intelligence.

            “Oh, come on, both of you? That’s just mean.”

            Erin grins wickedly.

            “Oh, how the tables have turned.”

            Mouse shakes his head, grinning. They wait as Erin scans in to open the door, and Mouse glances behind him down the stairs to see the usual smattering of people milling about, and Platt at her desk, staring inscrutably back.

            When they get upstairs, Voight is already in his office, Olinsky at his desk, and Atwater just pouring himself a cup of coffee in the break room. The three of them part ways, Mouse dropping into his seat and pulling off his jacket, then clicking on his computer.

            It’s a slow day, no new cases coming in, and they bum around the office catching up on paperwork. Last night, they had accidentally ended up making a much bigger batch of curry than they intended, but it means that they have a lot of leftovers. Come lunchtime, the three of them heat it up in the microwave and sit at the little round table.

            “So it’s about alien invasions?” Erin furrows her brows as she scoops up another spoonful.

            “No,” Mouse exclaims exasperatedly. “Well, I mean, kinda, sometimes… But not really. It’s about the Doctor, who’s a Time Lord, which is an alien species, and he travels in time and space in his space ship, and he takes along companions, usually humans, and they visit other times and planets.”

            “Yeah huh. And there’s the old series, and then a reboot?”

            “No, the 2005 series is a continuation of the old series.”

            “But wouldn’t the actors be old now?” Mouse shakes his head.

            “No, that’s the magic of Doctor Who, is that regeneration, which is a thing Time Lords do, lets them change actors while maintaining the story. There’ve been 12 Doctors – well, 13 technically.”

            “And you want me to watch it.”

            “Oh, come on,” Mouse says, pouting at the skeptical look on her face. “I was right about How to Train Your Dragon.”

            Erin glances helplessly at Jay, who shakes his head, laughing.

            “Sorry, you’ll get no help from me. He dragged me into watching it years ago.” Erin groans, flopping her head on the table theatrically. Mouse grins while Jay laughs, the three of them ignorant of the strange glances being thrown their way by their colleagues out in the bullpen.

            The afternoon drags on slowly, until finally Voight sends them off and the team closes up shop. Mouse shuts down his computer, pulling on his jacket and meeting up with Jay and Erin as they head down the stairs.

            “I’m thinking pizza,” Jay says as they walk down the stairs. “What do you guys think?”

            “Sounds good,” Erin agrees, rummaging in her bag for her keys. “Mouse?”

            “Pizza works. And you put your keys in the other pocket, Erin.”

            Erin frowns at her bag and gives an exasperated sigh, opening the other pocket and pulling out her keys.

            “Thanks. You still got beer in the fridge, Jay, or should we stop and get some?”

            “I think I’m just about out.”

            “I’ve got some at my place, if we swing by there we can grab it,” Mouse adds, as they push out the doors to outside.

            “And you can grab whatever you need if you’re gonna stay over. Perfect,” Erin says, unlocking the car as they walk up. They slide in, and Erin pulls smoothly out of the parking space to drive off, leaving Ruzek and Atwater exchanging raised eyebrows in the parking lot.

            “Grab the beer out of the fridge, I’ll just be a minute,” Mouse calls out as he leads the way into his apartment. He heads right for his room, pulling some clean clothes out of the closet, rolling them up and putting them in his backpack. He turns at a quiet knock on the doorframe to see Erin poking her head in.

            “Hey,” she says, hesitantly stepping into the room. “I just wanted to ask if, uh, if Jay knows about…”

            “Yeah, I told him about it.” He tosses her a smile, which she returns with a huffed laugh.

            “Which would be why he didn’t question how I knew where your place was.” She nods to herself, slipping her hands into her pockets and taking a step back towards the door. He takes a breath, fingers clenching around the balled-up socks in his hand.

            “Hey, I’ve been,” he begins, pausing to take another breath as Erin looks up curiously. “I’ve been wanting to ask… why didn’t you call Jay? When – you know.”

            Erin furrows her brows, blinking in surprise with parted lips.

            “Oh, uh.” She tucks a strand of hair behind one ear. “It didn’t really occur to me, actually. I was kind of just… focused on getting here and making sure you were okay.” Erin hesitates, frowning slightly at the floor. “Should I have? Called Jay?” She looks up uncertainly.

            “No, no, you did fine,” he scrambles to reassure her. “I was just… just wondering.” Her shoulders relax in relief and she smiles again.

            “Okay. I’m gonna-” She points one thumb over her shoulder, backing out swinging around the corner of the doorframe. Mouse looks down at the socks in his hands, frowning in thought, trying to figure out how he feels about what Erin said. He sighs, shaking his head, and shoves the socks into the bag along with the rest of his things, tugging the zipper closed and swinging it onto one shoulder. Erin and Jay are waiting in the kitchen; Erin leaning on the counter, Jay with one arm braced on it, standing close enough to each other that Erin’s bent knee brushes Jay’s leg, talking quietly. The way their bodies seems to pull towards each other like magnets sends a melancholy pang through Mouse. Jay notices Mouse over Erin’s shoulder and looks up, Erin turning her head to follow his eyes.

            “Got your stuff?” Jay asks. Mouse nods with a smile.

            “Got the beer?”

            Jay turns to lift the six pack off the counter. Erin pushes off to stand straight, and Jay laces his free hand through hers as the three of them leave the apartment. Mouse clicks off the lights and pulls the creaking door shut with a click, locking it behind them.

            Walking through the door into Jay’s apartment, Mouse is struck by how different it feels from his own. Where Mouse’s apartment ranges from just a little too cold to really cold in all but the hottest weather, Jay’s is pleasantly warm. But it’s not just about the temperature; it’s that he is suddenly struck by how much more this place feels like home, as Jay and Erin pull off their jackets, flicking on the lights. The beer bottles clink in their cardboard casing as Jay slides them onto the kitchen table, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

            “The usual, Mouse?”

            “I don’t know why you even bother to ask anymore,” Mouse says grinning.

            Jay shrugs.

            “You never know, right? Erin?”

            “Tropical heatwave,” she tosses over her shoulder on her way out of the room. “I’ll be back in a minute, go ahead and order.”

            By the time the pizza arrives, they’ve popped the caps off a couple of beers, sitting around the table, and Mouse is trying to wrangle Erin into agreeing to start watching Doctor Who that night. Finally, Erin turns exasperatedly to Jay, who has been watching in silent amusement.

            “I’m never gonna win this, am I?” Jay grins widely, shaking his head.

            “You might as well give in gracefully.”

            Mouse laughs and Erin huffs, shaking her head.

            “Man, who knew you were so _stubborn_?”

            Mouse grins, but any reply is interrupted by the buzz of the doorbell, and Jay hops out of his chair.

            “That’d be the pizza.”

            Erin follows Jay into the hall, and Mouse can hear them talking to the delivery guy as he pulls plates out of the cupboard and sets them on the table. Erin walks back in, holding the stack of cardboard boxes, putting them down as Jay sees off the delivery guy and pulls the door closed, locking it with a click. Mouse grabs a couple of napkins while Erin sorts out the pizza.

            “Meatlover’s, that’s Jay’s, Tropical Heatwave, mine,” she mutters to herself, “and… veggie?” She looks over at Mouse, passing him the pizza box with one raised eyebrow as Jay comes back into the room and slides into his chair. “I would not have figured you for a veggie guy. I mean, you’re not vegetarian.”

            Mouse shrugs, smiling as he tugs two pieces out of the box and onto his plate.

            “It was my mom’s favorite. She used to say, uh,” he chuckles softly, “she used to say that you had to have veggie to balance out the unhealthiness of the pizza. It was the only kind she would eat. I hated it when I was a kid, my dad and I stuck together with our meat, but the first time I ordered pizza when I was living alone, I just ordered veggie, and it stuck.” Erin has an odd pensive look on her face, and Mouse shrugs again. He glances over at Jay, who is watching him with a sad knowing smile.

            “That’s really sweet,” Erin says, smiling. “You know, I don’t even know anything about your family.” Mouse fiddles with the label on his beer. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me, but I’m curious.” Mouse clears his throat slightly, swallowing past the fluttering of anxiety in his chest.

            “Um, well, I’m an only child. Chicago, born and raised. Dad worked for a tech company, my mom was a receptionist at a big name law firm. They met in college, got married a few years after they graduated and had me.” Mouse pauses, frowning slightly at the half-eaten slice of pizza on his plate. “I was 14 when my dad was diagnosed with early onset Parkinson’s; 15 when he killed himself.” He hears Erin’s sharp intake of breath but doesn’t look at her. He does glance up at Jay, who meets his gaze with a gentle smile and sad eyes. “My mom… she stopped really living after that, and I was just finishing my first year of college when she had an aneurysm, and died. I dropped out of college and enlisted.” The label on his beer begins to peel and tear, so he drops his hands flat to the table and looks up.

            Erin opens her mouth, then seems to stop herself, brow furrowing, and for a second Mouse’s stomach roils with fear that the words about to come out of her mouth are “I’m sorry.” Erin huffs a quick breath and leans back slightly in her chair.

            “Well. We’re a right set of sob stories, aren’t we?”

            Mouse cracks up, laughter made slightly breathless by relief, and Erin and Jay join in, dispelling the creeping shadows of grief. The shadows stay at bay through the evening as they talk around the table, and then as they move to the living room where Mouse grins in anticipation, watching Erin as the familiar “ooooooweeeeeoooo” fills the room. At first, Erin tosses out jokingly acidic comments and criticisms, but Mouse watches and listens as her questions eventually become genuine and he knows that the show has her attention. Some of her questions he answers, but mostly he stays silent, giving her a knowing “you’ll see” grin, which eventually causes her to swat at him with a pillow, Jay laughing between them all the time.


	14. 14

Mouse takes his own car to work the morning after they started watching Doctor Who, and waves off Jay and Erin that night as they head out together, while he returns to his own apartment. It’s cold, as always, but being alone feels less lonely than it had last week. Knowing that Jay and Erin have made a conscious pact to include him in their lives, to make something for the three of them, makes the quiet evening lighter, and that night is the best night’s sleep he’s ever had in that apartment. (It’s not quite nightmare free; he’s not sure if he’ll ever be really nightmare free again, but he gets up in the morning with only the vague remembrance of some dark dream that is left tangled in the sheets while he slips into the hot shower.)

            And the three of them make good on their plans. At least once a week – and it’s frequently more – the three of them troupe over to Jay’s apartment to make dinner. They make a habit of alternating who chooses the recipe. They start with simple things, easy and uncomplicated. Soon though, they branch out, trying new things – Mouse brings his mom’s Mac and Cheese recipe one time, which Erin declares the best Mac and Cheese she’s ever eaten; another time he suggests sweet and sour meatballs with rice; another time honey lime salmon and mango salad. It’s Jay’s idea to try to make their own fried chicken, which turns out surprisingly well (Mouse had very real concerns about burning down the apartment); Jay also is the one to introduce ‘Everything Crock-Pot Stew,’ roasted red pepper pasta, and butternut squash soup. Erin contributes frittata, burritos, chicken and quinoa, and once sends the three of them on an adventure through the grocery store to find all the ingredients to make their own sushi.

            Mouse only stays the night at Jay’s some of the time, because as much as he likes the company and the atmosphere, his own bed really is more comfortable than Jay’s couch. But sometimes he stays. They’ve been working their way through Doctor Who, and it makes Mouse grin that he no longer has to coerce Erin to watch it at all. While Jay watched it all with him and liked it, Erin is fast becoming much more enthusiastic about it than Jay ever was. Jay, for his part, sits back and watches Erin and Mouse’s enthusiasm with a content smile.

            One night, they stray into the prickly topic of their childhoods. Prickly, for Erin, for obvious reasons, because she didn’t have much of one with Bunny’s habits and bad parenting. Prickly for Mouse and Jay, not because they had bad childhoods, but because it’s hard to look past the bad that came later and remember the good. But they stray in that direction, because as they’re sitting around waiting for the chicken to cook, Erin mentions overhearing some of the patrol officers talking.

            “They were talking about going to a games café, like a café where you play board games. Is that an actual thing?”

            “You haven’t heard of them?” Jay says with raised eyebrows. “They’ve been around for a little while. It’s just what it sounds like, people go and play games and have coffee and stuff.”

            “They have ones that are bars too,” Mouse interjects. “I’ve never been, but I’ve heard of them. You not a board game fan then?” Erin shrugs.

            “I don’t know, I never really played them. Never had anyone to play them with as a kid. I mean, I’ve played the standard card games obviously – poker and crazy eights and whatever. But board games just…” She trails off with another shrug. “What about you guys?”

            Mouse gives a wistful smile, and sees a similar look on Jay’s face.

            “My mom loved Boggle,” Mouse says. “She’d pull out all these weird law words that she picked up around her work, and my dad would pull out all these funny tech terms from his work, and they were constantly challenging each other on their words, making each other look them up and prove they were valid. And I was a kid, so I was pretty terrible at it, but it was fun just to watch them argue and accuse each other of cheating because they’d always end up laughing like crazy. And as much as they loved Boggle, they equally hated Scrabble, god knows why. My dad taught me to play chess, which we were both pretty good at, and my mom was terrible. And we played all the usual ones, you know, things like Jenga, Trivial Pursuit, Yahtzee, oh god, Monopoly – the bane of my existence.”

            Jay snorts.

            “Monopoly,” Jay says scornfully. “We had Dogopoly. That stupid game. Will liked to try and cheat, and he got angry whenever I called him on it when we were kids, and he’d mess up all the pieces and storm off to leave me to clean it up.” Jay shakes his head in irritation. “My mom loved board games though. It was something she’d always done with her family, so we had this whole, like, bookcase full of all kinds of board games, and she’d just randomly come home some days with a new one, and we’d all drop everything and try it out that night. And this was before I was seriously telling my dad I wanted to serve and then be a cop, so he was pretty civil. We had things like… Ticket to Ride, and Carcassone… Oh, Settlers of Catan was everyone’s favorite.” Jay’s grin dimmed slightly. “But, well, I haven’t played in ages, obviously. I think my dad sold all our board games after Mom died.”

            Erin twines her fingers through Jay’s, and they move on to a different topic pretty quick. But the next dinner night, Erin shows up with a large cloth bag, out of which she pulls a red box labelled “Settlers of Catan.”

            “So,” she says, “how does this work?”

            (Mouse wins the first game, and Erin wins the second. Jay scowls good-naturedly and blames beginners luck, and says he’ll get them next time, and they pack everything into the box and Jay clears a space and sticks it on his bookcase.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! It's been way longer than usual since my last update - I just started back full time at my summer job and I've been devoid of internet for the past week and a half. Unfortunately, I've now run out of pre-written buffer chapters, so updates will probably slow down, especially as I try to get back into the routine of 40 hour work weeks and living independently in a trailer (I work at a campground). I've also hit a bit of a slow point in the story that just doesn't want to write easily, but have no fear, I won't be abandoning this story. I have too many plans for it. Reviews make me super happy, as always!
> 
> While I have your attention, I just want to let everyone know that I'm not ace, nor do I really know anyone personally who is, so if you know more than I do and you see something in my story that you think isn't right, tell me! Please, help me avoid misrepresenting asexuality.


	15. 15

Erin learns the hard way to be extremely careful waking Mouse or Jay from a nightmare.

            It’s several weeks in to their dinners. Though Mouse has stayed the night more than a couple times, there’s yet to have been another midnight confessional. There was one night where Mouse was woken by Jay wandering in to the living room and clicking on the TV, and he lifted his head groggily from the pillow, and Jay rested a hand gently on Mouse’s head, running his fingers through Mouse’s hair with a soft smile, and Mouse nodded and drifted off to sleep again to the quiet murmur and flickering of whatever documentary Jay put on, waking briefly again when the TV was shut off and Jay ran his fingers once again lightly through Mouse’s hair on his way back to bed where Erin was still asleep.

            They have a case that day where the key witness was a soldier. He’s just a man at the wrong place at the wrong time who had the misfortune to see the shooters who opened fire on a café with machine guns early in the morning. It had been nearly empty – nearly, but not fully, the owner taking a round to the chest, DOA, and a 21 year old girl working the early shift helping to open brought to the hospital in critical condition. So Antonio walks the witness, the soldier, into the office and sits him down in the lunch room at the table. His name is Eric Stanport. Mouse watches the man, older than himself, but not an old man, pass by and tries to keep his eyes from flickering down to the stump of Eric Stanport’s right arm.

            Later in the day, the team are all out running down leads, but this time Mouse isn’t alone on the Intelligence floor. This time, Eric Stanport sits on a wobbly chair at a small round table, slit into pieces and flashes behind the slats of the blinds, and Mouse’s eyes often drift up without his consent to catch the small constant shifts of the soldier in the other room. Mouse’s fingers tap anxiously on the desk, the other hand fiddling with his empty coffee mug. Eric Stanport sits in the room with the coffee.

            The last time he was with another soldier other than Jay and Al, Jeff Frazier put a gun to his head. He’s not afraid, per se, and not because of Frazier certainly. But the thought of walking into that room makes his pulse jump, and the near silence of the room buzzes in his brain. Finally, he takes a deep breath and stands, hooking his fingers around the handle of his mug and walking to the break room.

            Eric Stanport’s head jerks up as Mouse opens the door, startled green eyes made wide with alarm. Mouse tries for a calming smile as he walks in towards the coffee pot. His senses are on high alert as he pours a fresh cup; he can almost feel every breath Eric Stanport takes behind him. He pours in the sugar and turns, taking a sip. Stanport has turned back to the table, so Mouse is looking at the back of a head covered in unkempt blond hair, and a dirt and dust stained jacket that is thinning and fraying but used to be, as far as Mouse can tell, army green. Looking at that jacket, Mouse is suddenly reminded of the day, a few months after he got clean, looking at his closet one morning and realizing that everything he owned was earth tones, camouflage colours, army colours. Coming up on three years after his last tour, and he’d still been living like a man in a war zone. So he went to a store and defiantly bought a bright red shirt, and a blue one, and one in purple, and stuck them in his closet.

            Mouse starts to walk out of the room, but stops, turning to Stanport again.

            “Hey,” he says hesitantly, and Stanport looks up cautiously. “You need anything?” Mouse sees a twitch of a grimace at the edges of Stanport’s mouth, hesitation, and then the man is shaking his head.

            “No, no, I don’ need anythin,” he says, words running clumsily together. Stanport clenches his left hand in a tight fist against his thigh, but not before Mouse sees the tremoring of the fingers, and Stanport can’t hide the shiver that runs through his body. Mouse’s grip tightens on his coffee mug, eyes darting to the dark shadows carved under Stanport’s tired eyes, the grime of his skin, the dirty clothes, threadbare to match the jacket on his back. Mouse feels a shudder running lightly over his own skin, coming to rest in a vibrating anxiety, curled like a purring cat at his collarbone and twining through his ribs. He swallows, nods, and leaves the room, pulling the door shut behind him with a soft click that echoes too loudly in the quiet of the Intelligence floor. Mouse squeezes his eyes shut and takes a few deep breaths, then strides purposefully back to his computer and goes back to work, keeping his gaze firmly averted from the break room.

            It turns out that the owner of the café had taken out a hell of a loan to get his business started, and couldn’t pay up, and the man he owed wasn’t the forgiving type. The loan shark did his best to go out in a hail of bullets, but Antonio got him with a bullet in the leg, and they dragged him out, bleeding but breathing. Antonio is the one to tell Eric Stanport that they got the guys, that what he told them had helped crack the case, that it’s safe to leave the district now, and it’s Antonio that leads him out across the Intelligence floor. Mouse can’t help but watch him surreptitiously as he goes. It feels oddly like standing at the edge of a cliff, or a high diving board, until Stanport descends the stairs and falls out of sight. Most of the rest of the team head to Molly’s, but it’s dinner night, so the team heads out without Erin, Jay, and Mouse.

            It’s Jay’s night to choose the meal – he chooses pizza, homemade, though they cheat, buying premade crusts and pizza sauce. Erin gets to work on grating cheese while Jay sauces the pizzas and Mouse starts cutting up onions and peppers. Jay and Mouse do their best to keep veggie chopping out of Erin’s hands, lest they end up with vegetable bits everywhere – it’s not only carrots she has a hard time with. Mouse finds his concentration drifting, losing track of Erin and Jay’s conversation, seeing and not seeing the cutting board in front of him as he slices and dices, only experience keeping him from cutting himself accidentally.

            He blinks into focus at Jay nudging him gently with an elbow. Jay quirks an eyebrow ever so slightly, blue eyes searching Mouse’s face – _okay?_ – and Mouse shrugs one shoulder. Jay nods and rests his fingers on Mouse’s for a second before turning back to his conversation with Erin.

            Mouse tries to keep up with the conversation more once they sit down to dinner, but his attention wanders hazily. Once, he looks up and catches Erin watching him. Her expression is inscrutable as her eyes meet his and hold them, and then casually flick away to smile at Jay as though the moment had never happened, and Mouse wonders if he imagined it.

            After dinner, and after they’ve cleaned up and are moving into the living room, when Erin goes to the bathroom, Jay takes Mouse’s arm gently.

            “You’re staying tonight,” he murmurs. So Mouse stays.

            _It’s cold, dampness of the night dew saturating the fraying fabrics of his clothes, a harder kind of cold, a deep-earth kind seeping into his body through the concrete beneath him, and the bricks at his back. He hates that he likes being cold like this, because he can pretend that its only shivers from the chill of the night that make his fingers fumble and dance in the dimness. Except, of course, for the rattling bottle of pills in his jacket pocket, and he can’t quite decide whether he can actually feel the weight of it or if he imagines it. It’s not quiet in the warehouse – Chicago is never quiet. Even at this late, or maybe early, hour, cars rev in the streets outside, punctuated by the occasional honk; voices call out, the drunken slur of catcalls, shouts of arguments, abruptly loud laughter that echoes and carries in the streets and the walls. These noises are familiar, but there are other noises that no matter how many times he hears them, he can’t get used to._

_Bang!_

_It could be a car backfiring, a firecracker, a dropped brick or one thrown, every once in a while it’s an actual gunshot. It doesn’t matter; his body jerks, scrambling away from the noise, abruptly breathless as the night fills with a bout of raucous laughter. Trembling hands scratch and pull and fumble at his pocket. He swallows the pill dry, eyes crushed shut, feeling his heartbeat still thrumming like a hummingbird’s wings, waiting._

_The transition is seamless, as it is in dreams, which possess a logic all their own that falls away in the morning._

_His heart thrums so fast it barely feels like it’s beating and his breath is shallow and gasping; his body is numb, or he is floating in space, ethereal spirit disembodied. The roof above him is not quite white anymore, and it blurs in and out of his flickering vision; sound comes in wobbly bursts, like a phone call with a bad connections, catching snatches of words. The woman’s face comes into fuzzy view and he sees her lips moving – “Sir … hear me?”_

_It’s not hard to figure out what she’s asking and he wants to nod, say yes, but he’s a bit preoccupied with the fact that he’s choking and his chest is on fire as he’s being dragged to the bottom of the ocean. The man leans over, but if he says something Mouse misses it entirely, distracted by the man’s blue eyes, startling against his black skin, and almost exactly the same shade as Jay’s. And he is consumed by a single thought –_ Jay will never forgive me.

_The dream shifts again. The last hacking job went well; there’s enough money in his pocket that he’ll have enough left over after the buy to have some real decent food, maybe even enough to buy a new coat – the one he’s wearing is getting thin and the cold cuts through it. It’s late; the sun dipped below the horizon a few hours ago._ It seems _, he thinks errantly,_ as though my whole life has happened in the dark.

_He hears the footsteps coming towards him from around the corner, a group of them, but pays them no mind. Chicago is a busy place at night. But he does slink a little closer to the wall, holding his body tense, because Chicago is also a dangerous place at night._

_There’s four men, and one woman, swaggering confidently, and he feels the moment their eyes zero in on him._ Shit. _He’s a better fighter, he can be reasonably sure of that, but his body is stiff with cold and from sitting long hours by the computer for the job, and there are five of them._

_“Well, well, what do we have here?” The leader lilts, and the group grin. He nods to them and tries to slide away, but one grabs him by the arm and spins him back against the wall. They set upon him with wild laughter. He throws punches, catching one in the stomach, using his elbows and quick hands, body reacting instinctively. They’ll come away from this with a few bruises. But five of them, almost all bigger than him, are unrealistic odds, and soon they have him on the ground, ripping at his pockets, fists to his stomach. He takes the pain silently, even as the blows leave him gasping for breath, but when the woman pulls out the neat stack of folded bills from the inside pocket of his jacket, he can’t help the small cry of despair. She grabs a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back and leans in, close enough that he can feel the heat of her breath on his ear._ Thanks, honey, _she says sweetly. He can smell beer on her breath, overlaid by the cloying scent of bubble-gum. She keeps hold of his hair, pulling tightly, and grins wickedly, sliding her other hand lower, lower, and he thrashes wildly in the restraining arms, but they hold him tight. She squeezes once, hard, cackling, and shoves off him. The men fall upon him again, fists and boots and pain_ and hands gripping him tight, shaking him, and suddenly he has an arm free, somehow he has the leverage, grabbing at the hands holding him, twisting and rolling until he’s got them with a chokehold round the neck, arms prone behind their back; his chest heaves with adrenaline and relief, but he finds his mouth assaulted by long strands of their hair-

            Reality is a blow to the chest harder than any launched by those men on the street, and he feels sick and dizzy and breathless as he pushes Erin out of his arms scrambling blindly against the wall, flinching violently as Erin coughs and regains her breath. His whole body trembles, gasping, the room beginning to spin with the vicious onset of the panic attack, heartbeat racing as fast as it did in his dream, back in that ambulance, chest already aching with the effort of breathing, eyes burning with tears that spill down his numb cheeks.

Perception in a panic attack is a strange, paradoxical thing. So when Jay appears in the doorway of the living room, Mouse is both only dimly aware of it, and sharply and vibrantly cognisant of it and the “ _Shit_ ” that bursts from Jay’s lips before he bolts to Erin’s side, arm around her shoulder murmuring quietly, her murmuring back, too low for Mouse to hear over the sound of his breath scraping in and out of his throat.

            Seconds or minutes or hours later, Jay rises, leaving Erin sitting still by the couch, and walks slowly over to Mouse, eyebrows crinkled with emotion. Jay drops to edge up next to Mouse up against the wall. Mouse is caught between the intense desire to run, and the equally intense desire to collapse into Jay’s arms. Trapped within himself, Mouse does nothing, frozen and gasping and drowning. Jay snakes an arm around Mouse’s body, pulling him in, and a strangled sob forces its way out between Mouse’s gasping breaths and he squeezes his eyes shut and wishes he could pour bleach into his brain to forget the way that he turned his body into a weapon against Erin, and the sound of her coughs as she struggled to breathe again.

            His stomach churns with guilt and panic, and he has a moment of desperate pleading with himself or any deity or controlling force in the universe that this won’t be the kind of panic attack that makes him sick, but then he feels the hot-cold flush flash across his skin and the cold sweat breaking at his temples. He jerks in Jay’s arms, eyes opening to meet Jay’s in the dimness, and a whimper escapes through the panicked panting, and Mouse can see the instant that Jay knows. Jay bolts from his side, and Mouse sees Erin’s head jerk round to watch Jay, confusion evident and Mouse tries to focus on her face instead of his roiling stomach, but the surge of guilt at her tousled hair and rumpled shirt has the opposite effect. And then Jay is back, sliding the garbage can up beside Mouse, dropping back down to wrap his arm back around Mouse’s body, ready to prop him up. Mouse catches the flicker of understanding on Erin’s face and feels burning humiliation and shame join with the guilt in the split second before his stomach clenches and he jerks forward, Jay’s arms supporting him as he chokes on the vomit burning its way up his throat, splattering hotly from his lips. He gets one gasping breath in before his stomach convulses again, tears spilling down his cheeks, until his stomach is empty and the heaving ends and he slumps back, crying and struggling to catch his breath, body trembling feverishly in shivering waves, and he buries his head in his hands, trying to block out the world while Jay shifts to hold him more comfortably.

            The brush of fabric makes Mouse jump and he looks up to find Erin draping a blanket over him and he stares at her with wide eyes as she gently covers him with it, moves the garbage can slightly farther away, and sinks to the ground next to him. His gaze catches on the shadow of redness around her throat. She snakes a warm hand up to enclose one of his own, cold and still lightly trembling.

            “Hey,” she murmurs. “I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

            “Liar,” he croaks quietly. She tugs her lips into a half smile.

            “Who you calling a liar? I’m made of tough stuff, you know that.” Her bid for humour fades back into a serious intensity. “You did not hurt me. I’m okay. This is not your fault; I should have known better than to try and shake you awake like that. You even told me it was a bad idea.”

            Mouse looks away, clenching his jaw and keeping his lips tightly closed to stop reflexive venomous words escaping. _Who are you to tell me about guilt?_ Unfortunately, looking away from Erin just leads to him looking at Jay, who has been silent until their eyes meet.

            “Remember what you always told me? ‘We are not what our bodies do, we are not what our fear does, and we are not guilty of the things beyond our control.’ You can’t have it both ways.”

            Mouse swallows hard as Jay goes on.

            “You know that this isn’t your fault, and we don’t blame you.” Jay falls silent again and the words hang in the air. None of them speak. Erin rubs her thumb gently on Mouse’s hand.

            “You know, one time,” Erin begins with sudden animation, “when I was still in school and living with Hank, he came to wake me up in the morning. Only I was having this dream where I was running from this horde of moths. It wasn’t really a nightmare, more like one of those weird dreams that’s so weird that even the dangerous parts are just kind of funny and entertaining. But I was being chased by this giant cloud of moths, and they were catching up to me, and I was flailing my arms around trying to fight them off. But it turns out I actually started doing that in real life too, just as Hank was leaning over to wake me up. Got him right in the face.” She chuckles. “I thought he was going to be pissed, but he just put a hand to his face and did that ‘huh’ thing he does – you know what I mean? – and he just looks at me and says, ‘Nice right hook, kid.’ And when I told him about the dream, he laughed so hard.” Erin is grinning, and Mouse feels Jay chuckling beside him, but Mouse is watching Erin bemusedly. She sees his expression, and her own softens. “My point, is that it never even occurred to him to be angry, because he knew that I had no intention of hurting him. He knew that I wasn’t hitting him, I was hitting those damn moths.” She squeezes his hand. “You weren’t trying to hurt me. You were trying to defend yourself from whatever you were dreaming about. And there is _nothing_ in that for you to feel guilty about.”

            “Easier said than done,” he mutters.

            “Of course it is,” she continues fiercely. “Everything is. I can’t tell you how to feel Mouse. I know that even though Hank laughed about it, I felt guilty for weeks. He got a black eye from it, and every time I saw it I felt like crap. But now? Now I think of it every time I see a moth and it makes me smile. Guilt fades, if you let it. And you should, because you don’t deserve to carry that weight around with you.”

            Mouse closes his eyes at the passion in her voice – passion in his defense – and squeezes her hand in return, the thanks he can’t force himself to voice. They’re quiet for a moment. Mouse feels Jay tense, and knows that he’s about to stand, about to pull him up from the floor to go clean up, take him back to bed to sleep, move on. The words burst from his lips unbidden.

            “Eric Stanport; he’s homeless. And an addict.”

            Jay freezes, then Mouse feels Jay’s muscles relax as he settles back into sitting.

            “What?” Erin’s voice is bewildered, taken by surprise by his sudden outburst, and words she doesn’t understand the significance of.

            “I noticed earlier,” Mouse goes on, staring at the floor. “His hands were shaking, circles under his eyes, the dirty threadbare clothes.” Mouse can practically hear Erin’s mind turning, trying to make the connection. _If not now, when?_ he thinks to himself. His free hand digs into the deep pocket of his sweatpants and pulls out the slightly worn medallion. Resting his forearm on one knee, he flips it in his fingers. “Almost four years clean, and a homeless addict soldier still scares the shit out of me.” He glances up at Erin, who’s staring at him with wide eyes, stilled by shock. He looks back at the coin, watching the faint glimmer of the bronze in the dim light, not enough light to make out the etched “NA” on its face.

            “There were five of them. Four men, one woman. They were all drunk, probably on something too. I don’t know if robbing me was the point, or if they were just bored, but they came at me. I fought, but… they took my money – I’d just finished a job, so I had more than usual. Had enough for the drugs, a decent meal, a new coat… The woman, she took the money, had her little fun, and left me for the men to kick until they got tired of it. Fists, feet, elbows… and then I wasn’t dreaming anymore.”

            When he looks up again, Erin is focused on the coin in his hand. He holds it out to her, and she takes it tentatively, running her fingers over the engravings.

            “Do they help? The meetings?” She looks up at him. He shrugs.

            “I wouldn’t know. I don’t go to them – Jay gets the coins for me. I’m sure they do for some people, but I don’t think they would for me. But the coins help – having a physical reminder of the accomplishment, and what I’d be losing if I slipped… And it gives me something to do with my hands.” He takes the coin back from her gently, rolling it across his knuckles, then doing a simple vanishing coin trick. “Did you really never guess?”

            She frowns, shaking her head. “No.” He sees the way she raises her head to look at Jay with furrowed brow, and interrupts before the thought he knows is coming can be formed.

            “I’m very good at hiding when I don’t want to be found, even from Jay. And he just didn’t have the resources – at least for a while.”

            “And…” she says hesitantly, “you were living on the street?” Mouse shrugs again.

            “Paying rent as a jobless drug addict gets difficult,” he says, before adding wryly, “I don’t recommend it; it’s cold as fuck.”

            The comment has the desired effect – Jay snorts, and Erin coughs around a choked on laugh. Jay tenses to stand again, and this time Mouse stays silent, allowing himself to be pulled up to stand. He feels a little hollow, but most of the aftereffects of the panic attack have dissipated. Erin pushes up off the ground as well.

            “Come on,” Jay says, tugging Mouse’s hand. Mouse follows Jay into the bathroom where he brushes his teeth and washes his face. When they come back out, Erin has tied up the garbage bag and put it away, and remade the bed on the couch. She looks up as Mouse walks towards the couch.

            “Go,” she says sternly, pointing at the bedroom. He opens his mouth to protest, stopped by the noise she makes, which sounds, frankly, like the kind of noise made at a dog doing something wrong. She raises an eyebrow at him imperiously and shoos him away. He sighs, shaking his head slightly, shoulders slumping, and catches the smile on her face before he turns away and shuffles back into the bedroom, glancing back to see Jay and Erin exchanging loving smiles, Jay’s tinged by gratitude. Mouse slides under the blankets of the bed, settling in. The bed jostles as Jay slides in on the other side, Jay reaching out to gently grip Mouse’s hand before rolling over. Mouse closes his eyes, and waits to drift back to sleep.

            They don’t talk about it in the morning, but Mouse can somehow see the mark of it on all of them: something in Erin’s smile, Jay’s eyes, Mouse’s reflection in the mirror; something imperceptible really, but there.

            Three days later, Mouse pulls Erin aside at the district and presses a small bronze coin into her hands, and she smiles, raising the coin to her heart before sliding it into her pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Way too long since my last update I know! Blame work and gorgeous weather and the fact that I live at my job in a trailer, and there's a pool, and beaches, and stuff. I can't promise that the next chapter will come any faster - only that it will come eventually. 
> 
> As always, love to hear what you think.


	16. 16

Thinking about the NSA causes a simultaneous reaction of longing and distaste for Mouse. Longing, for the equipment, programs, and access that is available to them when it comes to hacking and monitoring, and general technology envy. Distaste, over the moral and ethical dilemma of the invasion of privacy. But then, he’s one to talk.

            So it’s a bit strange for him, that now, for the first time, the NSA is not quite the shadowy distant giant that it has always been. It has solidified, coalescing in the form of a tip, direct from an ordinary man to Antonio and Jay. And when the tip leads them not to a major drug running operation, but to a body, he can’t decide if he feels smug, or disappointed.

            It’s also the first time that Voight brings Mouse into the field – usually Mouse gets them set up with all the tech they need and stays behind at his desk while they head out. At the end of the briefing when Antonio and Jay step aside after presenting the info to everyone, Voight steps forward, as usual to bark out the game plan.

            “Right, we’re gonna take this like a run of the mill police stop for the takeaway. Jay, Erin, get in uniform, you’re our squad car. Antonio, you’re our first street walker. Al, find an in for you and Ruzek, you’ll be street walkers to take over from Antonio. Atwater, in the surveillance truck waiting to switch out as a walker with Al. Get Burgess and Roman, they’re our backup squad. Mouse, you’re in the van. Let’s go.” Voight tosses out the last command like there’s nothing unusual about it and stalks off. Mouse stays frozen in something akin to shock for a moment before it sinks in and he can’t help the small grin that blooms across his face. He gets to go into the field. In the surveillance van only, but still. Not only is it exciting simply because for the first time he’s not being left behind a desk while the team moves out as a coordinated unit, but it means that something has changed in the way that Voight sees him. It means that Voight trusts him - at least, as much as Voight trusts anybody.

            He stands, sweeping the tech room keys up off his desk and swinging them around his finger. As he looks up, he catches Jay’s eye across the room. Jay’s face is tense, but Mouse can read pride in between the taut lines of apprehension. Mouse’s eyes flicker over to Erin, who wears a similar expression of satisfaction and anxiety. He quirks a smile at them both and turns to jog lightly down the stairs.

            He inventories the surveillance van, long fingers running over equipment, pulling out drawers and cupboards, hooking around wires, to make sure that he has everything he needs. Once he’s sure it’s fully stocked, he nods at Atwater. Now is the time where he would usually wave them off and return to his desk. This time, he swings into the passenger seat and watches the city flash by the window.

            They pull into position, and the waiting game begins. Mouse slides to the back where he pulls up the traffic cams in the area, pulls up the phone on GPS tracking, taps into the audio on the phone, and slides the headphones up to his ear.

            They don’t have to wait long before Antonio identifies the target. The street walkers shuffle, Antonio swapping out for Al. Al calls in that the subject is getting into a car. Just not the right car. Atwater pushes up, hunched over in the van, passing the radio to Mouse as he hops out of the van to take over for Al.

            “Yeah, looks like they’re gonna do a car switch,” Mouse tosses out over the radio. The driver doesn’t go far before pulling into an alley for the switch. As car switches go, it’s pretty crude, and inelegant, but if someone had been watching this guy without the information that Intelligence has, it might have been enough to shake off a tail or escape from some bugs. Maybe.

            Mouse’s part is mostly over for now. It’s up to Jay and Erin, and he leans back and waits knowing they’ll be pulling him over any second. He’s working on finding them on the traffic cams again when – _bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Mouse can’t help the violent flinch at the muffled echo of gunshots that reaches him in the van. Heart pounding, he fumbles at the keyboard, racing through the traffic cams now until he finds one that shows the scene, and… yes, there’s Jay and Erin, both standing, uninjured over the prone body of the subject. Mouse huffs out a breath of relief, relaxing his tense shoulders and waiting for his pulse to slow.

            Mouse has calmed himself down enough in the few minutes after that he doesn’t flinch when the van door is pulled open and Atwater swings inside.

            “Hey,” Atwater nods in greeting. Mouse nods back and starts packing up the tech, slotting things back into their protective cases and drawers that keep them safe during the drive.

            “Hey Boss,” the radio crackles to life with Jay’s voice. “There’s no heroin. We got a body – gunshot wounds, and it’s got a hand chopped off.”

            Mouse and Atwater are the first ones back to the precinct. Atwater takes off up the stairs from the garage to update Platt while Mouse unpacks the surveillance van. He gets up to his desk about the same time as the rest of the team, who splinter to gather what information they can on their body.

            Several minutes later, Burgess slips up the stairs and quietly comes over, sliding the evidence bag with the driver’s phone onto Mouse’s desk. He glances up to meet Burgess’ smile.

            “Thanks.”

            She nods and turns away back down the stairs while Mouse pulls the phone out of the evidence bag. He gives it a cursory examination before turning to his computers to access the information on the phone… except when he connects, there is none. Nothing. No call history, no contacts, GPS history, nothing. The ‘phone’ is now nothing more than a hunk of unless piece of plastic and metal. He throws every trick he’s got at it, but you can’t hack something that isn’t there. He leans away from his desk in disgust, just as Jay starts talking.

            He listens as the team goes through what they know so far, jotting down notes and pulling up pictures and files on his laptop to keep up.

            “Mouse,” he glances up Jay calling his name. “You get anything off that phone yet?”

            The strong feeling of scorn and irritation returns. He scoops up the phone off his desk and stands.

            “This thing? No see, this thing is, is not a phone,” he scoffs, frustration making his voice sharper than he would usually speak to any of the team, especially with Voight in the room. But if they aren’t going to listen to the things that he tells them, he can’t do his job properly. He tosses the phone back onto his desk carelessly, where it lands with a loud thunk. “It’s a paperweight. Look, how many times do I have to tell you guys,” he continues, gaining volume. The back of his mind registers the surprise on the faces of the team, which then transitions into discomfort. Their eyes flicker around the room at each other, landing back on Mouse. “When you bring in an offender, you turn off their phones. Somebody was monitoring that thing, alright, they tracked it, back to the district, and then they wiped it, remotely, so.” He cuts himself off turning away and crossing his arms before he lets his frustration run away with him anymore.

            “I can get the phone data, no warrant,” Antonio says, which does nothing to help Mouse’s irritation.

            “Great, from your source, who, by the way, have you heard from?” Jay cuts in, and Mouse looks over at him from Antonio, skipping over Erin and Voight. But then his gazers flickers back to Voight, who’s still watching Mouse. As always, Voight is hard to read and Mouse’s eyes skitter away from his stare, inscrutable and calculating, but Mouse thinks he sees a glimmer of… what? Not pride. Respect, maybe?

            He glances back, but Voight’s gaze has shifted, and whatever Mouse thought he had seen is gone.

            The next morning is even weirder for Mouse, when a walking, talking, breathing NSA employee walks into the Intelligence floor. And he just looks… well, like an ordinary man. Tall, a bit scruffy, a bit pale, and completely ordinary. Not that Mouse was expecting anything else, except maybe his subconscious which was holding onto childish ideas of angular men in sharp expensive suits. And then Dominic Rillo opens his mouth.

            “So I couldn’t sleep last night so I ran a Memex search on the flagged phone.” And the tech geek in him leaps to attention, jumping in to explain what Memex is. He unconsciously edges right up to Rillo, reaching out automatically to poke at the diagram on the screen, itching to examine and test out the program.

            “Yeah, well, here it is,” Rillo says, turning his body slightly away from Mouse. Mouse pulls his arm back, backing away as Rillo goes on, and Mouse adds standoffish to the list of adjectives describing Rillo.

            “We need eyes and ears in that house,” Voight barks. “Let’s go, Mouse you’re going in with Al and Ruzek.” And once again Voight strides away, Mouse following him with his eyes. He’s not just going to be in the van this time; this time he’s going to be breaking into a murder suspect’s house to plant cameras and listening devices. If anything goes wrong, he’s going to be in the open, in the line of fire. This time, there is a real, if minimal, risk.

            Mouse grins.

            They wait, sardined into the surveillance van. They have five cameras to place inside the house, and no idea how long they’ll actually have to plant them once Nora Harrington leaves the house. Which she does just then, locking the door behind her and walking briskly down the street.

            “You’re up.” Erin turns to look at him, and he can read very real concern in her eyes.

            “Listen, I jammed the cell signal on her alarm, but she’s got a backup in the pantry.” He’s watching Nora Harrington walk out of sight of the camera, and then he looks up to meet Jay’s eyes. Jay is tense, worried, and Mouse remembers what Jay said back when he was still on desk duty after Keyes. _It scares me sometimes, knowing I brought you back into this._ He holds Jay’s gaze for a moment, then looks over at Erin, whose brow is crinkled up and her shoulders held tightly as though part of her wants to reach out and stop him from leaving the van. But she doesn’t. She just searches his face silently, while he stares back steadily before looking back at Jay as he speaks.

            “We see anything, you get the hell out of there Mouse. I mean right away.” Jay’s voice is quiet and controlled, but it doesn’t hide the worry. Mouse quirks his lips up in a grin, keeping his eyes on Jay a beat longer before reaching down to grab his bag.

            “Let’s do this,” Ruzek says, pulling open the van door, and he, Mouse, and Al hop out. _Let’s do this._

            It’s been a long time since he’s done any breaking and entering, but he still remembers the tricks. _Move confidently and no one will question you. Confidence keeps your hands steady. Rushing causes mistakes. Don’t linger. Know your emergency exit._ And then there’s the rule that he can toss out the window – _never trust the crew._ Because he does trust Al and Ruzek.

            They’re almost done when Jay’s voice interrupts from the radio.

            “Target’s coming back guys, you gotta move. Go, go, go.” Mouse feels the pulse of adrenaline as he jogs down the stairs, but he keeps his movements controlled, taking the drill from Ruzek, dropping it with the old fire alarm into his bag and wrapping it up. He follows Al around the back to their exit, slipping out the door just as the front slams shut. In the cover of the alley, he and Ruzek trade congratulatory fist bumps.

            “That’s what I’m talking about,” Ruzek says, grinning. Mouse grins in return and hears a chuckle from Al as they make their way back to the van. They clamber back in, Erin turned around to watch them, and Mouse can see the obvious relief in her face before he reaches over Jay to start the camera feeds.

            Mouse is down in the tech room watching the feeds when they see a new face on the camera feed. He grabs a snapshot, running a quick enhancement program over the picture, and tosses out facial recognition searches in all the databases he’s got. He watches the man in the video feed, noting the expensive suit, nice shoes, he’s well groomed, and the familiarity of the two of them together…

            He’s on the phone with Gnomic Systems a split second later. It takes only a small amount of convincing to get access to their corporate database, and only a few minutes to find his guy. He picks up Voight and Antonio from the main floor on his way up to Intelligence.

            As he comes up the stairs, he’s greeted by the sight of Rillo, not only sitting at his desk, but on his laptop.

            “Hey, what are doing on my equipment?” he demands. He’d have thought that a fellow tech guy would understand the whole ‘don’t mess with other people’s equipment’ thing, if not the whole common courtesy thing. He has a rather nasty thought to himself about Rillo and the NSA.

            “I’m running a criminal facial recognition program,” he says, not looking up from Mouse’s laptop, oblivious to the sharpness of Mouse’s voice.

            “Okay, on who?”

            “Uh I didn’t find any-” Rillo finally looks up, and pauses at the sight of Voight and Antonio standing there too, “-body.”

            He doesn’t care if it’s petty, Mouse smirks.

            “What, on this guy?”

            Rillo is taken aback, Mouse can tell, as though he never expected a police tech guy to actually be good at his job. Rillo glances back at Voight and Antonio, and Mouse can see he’s discomfited.

            “Ye-yeah, what are you running on that?” Rillo asks leaning forward.

            “Yeah, it’s the corporate database. See, I called Gnomic Systems and they gave me access cause I work for the police, cause sometimes, you just gotta ask.” He hands the tablet to Antonio, gratified to see that Voight also looks a little smug. “Gentlemen, meet Aaron Franceour.”

            While the rest of the team is watching Nora Harrington and dealing with Aaron Francoeur, Mouse updates his notes on the case and does some more in depth checking into Aaron Francoeur to look for anything that might help the case. He also studiously ignores Dominic Rillo, who dragged over a chair and plopped himself down at the end of Mouse’s desk.

            The phone rings, and out of the corner of his eye, Mouse sees Rillo jump. Mouse hooks the phone in two fingers, putting it to his ear, and directing an arched eyebrow at Rillo.

            “Intelligence.”

            “Yeah, Mouse, listen,” Ruzek says loudly over alarms in the background. “Nora Harrington gave us the slip, called in the fire department for a gas leak.”

            “I’ll get on it.”

            “Thanks.”

            Mouse hangs up and pulls up Nora Harrington’s phone tracking and credit cards and starts inputting an investigative alert.

            “What was that about,” Rillo interrupts, leaning in towards Mouse.

            “Nora Harrington’s on the loose. If you’ve got any secret tricks to find her, now’s the time.”

            Rillo opens his mouth as though to say something, but then closes it and the only sound is the clacking of keys. Mouse thinks it might finally have trickled into Rillo’s consciousness that Mouse isn’t his biggest fan. Either way, they work efficiently through all their tracking methods, turning up nothing after nothing.

            Mouse doesn’t like reporting no results back to Voight, but at least with this kind of nothing it also tells them something else – that she’s still around, still within their grasp.

            Rillo stands, but when he says “She could be anywhere,” an amorphous thought tickles at the back of Mouse’s mind, just out of reach. He tunes out the rest of Rillo’s tantrum, trying to coax the thought into focus. It’s true that she could be anywhere… but would she be? Or would she more likely be somewhere familiar….

            “Guys. Guys, guys!” The others fall silent. “Memex. Memex search, all phones related to Nora Harrington, but you geotag ‘em going back six months.”

            He thinks that the nuances of how this will work might go over Voight and Antonio’s heads a bit, but they get the gist. They look to Rillo for confirmation. It dawns slowly on Rillo’s face, as though he’s reluctant, but Mouse can see he’s impressed.

            “That’s actually… pretty smart. She knows we’re looking for her now, but she doesn’t know I can track her going back six months.”

            Once they get the location, the team blows out of the station, leaving Mouse to do the recon and fill them in on the fly. And they get them. Which is so satisfying, since it was Mouse’s idea that got them there.

            He’s cleaning up and organizing his files for the case when the lawyer walks in. He wouldn’t have paid her any mind, except Erin had told him about Jay’s quips earlier. So he looks up, and sure enough…

            “Ooooh, little late, your boy really wanted to talk. Couldn’t shut him up.”

            Mouse chuckles, expecting to turn back to his computer after she walks past to the interview room. Only she doesn’t. Instead, she walks up to Jay’s desk and pulls out a pen. He leans back in his chair, trying to see around her to what she’s doing. He can’t tell, but he can see Jay’s face, which is just as bewildered as his own and Erin’s. She scribbles something, then turns and walks away. Mouse watches Jay pick up the piece of paper and look at it. Jay’s eyebrows twitch and he pulls up a mask of impassivity, but a smile tugs at the corners of his lips, laughing and bashful.

            Erin pushes up out of her chair and wanders to Jay’s desk.

            “What is that?”

            “Nothing,” Jay says, trying to muffle obvious laughter. Erin looks down at the paper.

            “Phone number.” Mouse chuckles. “I’ll kill her,” Erin says, with fake venom. She turns, meeting Mouse’s eyes across the room. Mouse grins widely, and she winks. Jay ‘hmms,’ Erin turning back to look at him, and Jay tugs the piece of paper off the pad, tearing it up. Erin makes a noise of approval and struts back to her own desk, grinning.

            “You didn’t see anything,” Jay says, signalling to Mouse, who picks up a folder and uses it as a wall, grinning and shaking his head at their antics.

            Mouse finishes his organization just as Erin stands again, pulling her jacket off the back of her chair.

            “You guys coming?” She asks, sliding one arm into a sleeve. Mouse stands, slipping his laptop into his bag and looking at Jay.

            “I’ve gotta run an errand, but I’ll meet you guys there,” Jay says, grabbing his own coat. Mouse raises an eyebrow, but Jay doesn’t look at him. Erin does, with a silent question; Mouse shrugs.

            “Okay,” Erin says. Mouse nods and starts down the stairs. Erin comes pounding down after him a moment later. They part ways at the parking lot, towards their own cars, Erin tossing “Race you” over her shoulder with a laugh. Mouse smiles, shaking his head. She always beats him to Jay’s when they drive separately. He worries she might feel uncomfortable and guilty for joking about it if he tells her that he drives slowly and extra carefully because he can’t forget the IEDs and the death toll associated with them, and the convoy. He worries she might stop joking about it, worries she might start tiptoe-ing around him, even though she never has before. But he worries, so he doesn’t tell her, and he lets her shove a little light under the door of his anxieties.

            As usual, when he pulls into the parking lot of Jay’s apartment building after weaving his way carefully through the busy Chicago streets, Erin’s car is already there. He thumbs the elevator button, waiting for it to arrive and the doors to open. He used to not like taking elevators alone – he was never claustrophobic about them per se, but the possibility of getting stuck in one wasn’t a comfortable companion on the clunking ride – but that’s one thing he’s gotten past. Even the creaking, rattling one in his apartment building is bearable now, though he does still take the stairs frequently because it’s only three stories. Jay’s apartment, on the other hand, is on the 7th floor, and he doesn’t want to be bothered with the stairs. The elevator dings.

            Upstairs, he slides his key in the lock and slips in the door, clicking it shut and locking it once more. It occurs to him that Erin got into the apartment without him or Jay which must mean… but then he spots Jay’s familiar key ring sprawled on the little table in the hallway. _Idiot. Just give her a key already._

            He’s distracted by a twang of guitar strings from the living room. He shrugs off his backpack, dropping it to sit against the wall, and wanders forward to the living room. Erin is facing away from him, gingerly plucking at the strings of Jay’s guitar, resting in its stand. He leans against the corner of the wall for a moment, watching her tentative fingers as they strum and pluck just hard enough to elicit a soft echoing tone.

            “You play?”

            Erin jumps, swinging around to look at him, one hand leaping up to her heart.

            “Jesus Mouse, how do you do that?!”

            He chuckles, pushing off the wall and walking further into the room.

            “Once a ghost, always a ghost,” he shrugs. “So, you play?”

            She scrutinises him for a beat before shaking her head.

            “I wish, but I never learned. Never had the opportunity, and besides, I probably wouldn’t have had the patience for it. You?”

            He tugs the guitar out of its stand gently.

            “A bit. Not nearly as well as Jay, but he taught me the basics.” He sits, pulling the guitar into his lap and plucking a few notes of “You are My Sunshine.” “It’s not that hard, with practice. Though I had a bit of an advantage from piano.”

            Erin perches on the couch beside him.

            “You play piano?”

            “Mm, my mom put me in lessons when I was little. She’d always been jealous of people who could play instruments and didn’t want me to miss out. I’d come home at the end of every lesson and try and teach her everything I’d learned on our keyboard.” For a moment he vividly remembers the warmth of her hands under his small ones as he sat on her lap and pressed her fingers into the keys with his own. The way she laughed when she hit a wrong key and the sour note rang out. The duets they practiced and practiced to perform for his dad.

            “I know how she felt,” Erin says, tugging Mouse back to the present. He glances over to see the longing on her face.

            “Here,” he says, handing the guitar to her. She leans back, alarmed, hesitating before wrapping a hand around its neck and sliding it into her lap. “Like this.” He adjusts the guitar in her arms. “This,” he says, gently moving her fingers into place on the frets, “is G. And this,” he slides her hand along the neck, “is A. B…C… D… E…” She lets his hand guide hers, fingers fumbling to try and fit into the unfamiliar positions, strumming at each note to listen. “Good, you remember that?” She slides her hand along the neck back to first note, trying to recreate the positioning without Mouse’s guiding fingers.

            Mouse glances up at Jay, leaning against the wall as Mouse had done when he walked in. Mouse noticed him slip in as he was showing Erin C, but Erin hadn’t heard. Mouse smiles at the soft affection lighting up Jay’s face, turning back to correct Erin’s finger position.

            “Learning much?”

            “Jesus - !” Erin jumps, gasping and jerking her head up to find Jay chuckling at the entrance to the living room. “Both of you! Twice, in one day!” She huffs, throwing her hands up. “Honestly. You guys should wear bells.”

            Mouse snickers, and she rounds on him.

            “You didn’t jump,” she says, eyeing him suspiciously. He raises an eyebrow, smirking.

            “That’s because I knew he was there.” She narrows her eyes at him.

            “How?”

            Mouse shrugs.

            “Just did. Always do.”

            Jay wanders into the room, shrugging out of his jacket and dropping into an armchair.

            “I have something for you,” Jay says casually, nodding at Erin. Surprise and excitement flash on Erin’s face.

            “Is that so?” She passes the guitar back over to Mouse, leaning slightly towards Jay. Jay smiles, nodding, and pulls from his jacket pocket a small flat squarish box. He leans over and passes it to Erin. She takes it, glancing up at Jay with an inquisitive grin before sliding the top of the box off. The key gleams dully in the light. _Finally._

            Erin plucks the key from the cotton batting, a brilliant smile spreading slowly across her lips and lighting up her eyes.

            “Yeah?”

            Jay smiles.

            “Yeah.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been way too long! Hoping to post more frequently, but we'll see how it goes with university. Comments make my day, as always!


	17. 17

After dinner they return to the living room, Erin and Jay on the couch, and Mouse in an arm chair. Erin dangles a hand over the edge of the couch, fingers running over the strings of the guitar, back in its place on the stand. She tilts her head back to look at Jay.

            “Play me something.”

            Jay quirks an eyebrow. Erin grins, sitting up straighter and tugging the guitar out of the stand. Mouse leans back in his chair, amused, watching her heft the guitar up and push it into Jay’s lap. Jay obediently adjusts the guitar into position, fiddling with the strings and plucking a few notes to check the tuning. Jay glances up, grinning at Mouse, and starts strumming a familiar tune. Mouse laughs, shaking his head. Jay raises his eyebrows, and Mouse rolls his eyes. Erin watches this exchange curiously, eyes flicking between the two of them, and then the chords reach Mouse’s cue.

            _“Where it began, I can’t begin to knowing_

_But then I know it’s growing strong_

_Was in the spring_

_And spring became the summer_

_Who’d have believed you’d come along.”_

            Mouse takes the brief pause in the song to laugh at Erin’s taken aback expression – eyebrows raised, eyes wide, lips parted.

            _“Hands, touching hands_

_Reaching out, touching me, touching you.”_

            Erin recovers from her shock, grinning, and she joins in with the chorus. Her voice is untrained, but she’s got good pitch and can obviously carry a tune. By the end of the song, Mouse is tossing out harmonies and they’re all grinning and he feels like they should be sitting round a campfire as the sparking embers drift towards the stars.

            “So you sing too? What can’t you do?” Erin says laughingly. Mouse feels a faint blush skim across his cheeks, laughing and scratching the back of his neck.

            “Draw. Dance, skate. Not much of a swimmer. Ride a horse, tried that once – never again.”

            “You can’t skate?” Erin says incredulously. Mouse shakes his head.

            “Never learned. My parents weren’t into it, and I didn’t care enough to make them take me, so…” He shrugs. Mouse and Erin both look up as Jay stands suddenly.

            “Grabbing some water, you guys want some?” He passes the guitar to Mouse on his way past.

            “Yeah, sure,” Erin says as Mouse nods. Mouse pulls the guitar into his arms, fingers finding the notes absentmindedly. The tune flutters softly into the air.

            “Haven’t heard that in a long time,” Jay says fondly as he pads back into the room with three water glasses.

            “Haven’t played it in a long time.” Mouse smiles sadly, plucking the chords again, the sound seeming to vibrate somewhere in his lungs.

            “What is it?” Erin asks curiously. “I don’t recognize it.”

            “No, you wouldn’t,” Mouse answers absently. “I wrote it.” If Mouse had looked up, he might have laughed at the comically surprised expression on her face. He didn’t though, eyes watching the vibration of the strings.

            “Play it for me?” Jay asks quietly. Mouse watches the strings a moment longer, the way dust motes dance around them, and then begins playing the chords in earnest. Sweet and somber, they reverberate in the living room and Mouse closes his eyes.

            “ _Sing me a lullaby_

_Darling sing me to sleep_

_Promise to watch over me_

_And safe guard my dreams._

_Sing me a lullaby_

_Darling sing me to sleep_

_Please sing it loud_

_Cause it’s so hard_

_To drown out the screams_

_If you take my hand_

_Stay by my side_

_I won’t promise you an easy life_

_I won’t tell you a lie_

_But sing me a lullaby_

_And I’ll sing one for you_

_We can stay inside_

_On the 4 th of July_

_And just sing each other_

_Lullabies."_

            The last note of the song hangs in the air, and Mouse opens his eyes and finds Jay watching him with the familiar look of fondness and melancholy. His chest aches a little, as it always does when he plays that song, too full of all the things it means, and hollow for all the things they’ve lost. He glances apprehensively towards Erin, who is watching him with wide, sad eyes.

            “That was beautiful Mouse,” she murmurs. Her hands twitch, rising from their place clasped in her lap, then falling back. A flush rises in Mouse’s cheeks and he drops his eyes, fiddling with the strings. “Guess we can add songwriting to the list of your talents too,” she says wryly. Mouse chuckles.

            “Hardly. That’s the only song I ever wrote, and it’s so short it barely counts.”

            “Oh, I think it counts,” Jay breaks in, and Mouse rolls his eyes at the repetition of this refrain. He glances back up and finds that Erin’s eyes still linger on him, but this time she doesn’t keep his gaze, flicking over towards Jay, and Mouse thinks he sees a faint blush on her cheeks.

            Mouse passes the guitar back to Jay and takes a sip from the glass of water Jay had set on the coffee table. Jay doesn’t settle the guitar in his lap, but passes it along to Erin, who gently leans it back into the stand. Mouse’s mind drifts, back to the base where he played that song for the unit for the first time, the way Jay watched him, aglow with pride, and how a poignant silence stopped time for a moment before his brothers in arms clapped and grinned; all except Hollingsworth, who stared back, pale, stiff, and stricken. The look on his face is one that haunts Mouse. _Would it have been better never to know?_

            He blinks, rising back to the present as though emerging from a dark cave, Jay’s living room slowly coming back into focus. The lights have been dimmed and an episode of Doctor Who has just begun playing on the TV. Mouse leans forward, finally putting down the water glass he’s been holding absently. Jay is watching him from the corner of his eye. Mouse doesn’t meet his eyes; he has a feeling Jay has been watching him the whole time. Erin glances over quickly, eyes drawn by his movement, and then her eyes skip back to the TV, and Mouse wonders if she’s just being more discreet than Jay in watching him, or if she hadn’t noticed anything. Discretion, he decides, as her eyes flick back to him once more, just briefly.

            He ignores them both, pretending to watch Rose and the Doctor on the screen. Really, it’s a struggle to focus on the episode, only flickers of lights and colours really registering. If asked, he probably wouldn’t even be able to say which episode it was, but he must put on a pretty good charade, as by the end Jay and Erin have both stopped watching him.

            When the credits start streaming across the screen, Mouse checks his watch and rises from his chair.

            “I should get home,” he murmurs. Erin and Jay’s heads both swivel to look at him.

            “You’re not staying?” Erin asks, badly masked concern in her voice. Mouse puts on a small, tired smile.

            “Not tonight.” He slips on his jacket and stuff his hands in his pockets, wandering to the door. Erin and Jay both push off the couch to follow to the hall, as he pulls open the door.

            “Mouse-” Jay begins quietly.

            “See you guys tomorrow.”

            “Yeah, tomorrow…” Erin trails off, bewildered. Mouse tugs the door shut behind himself with a quiet snap, and is alone in the hallway.

            The thing is, even as he wanders almost dazedly to the elevator and then out to his car, he knows that leaving is the wrong choice. But he keeps going, pulling open the door and starting the car, and pulling slowly out onto the road. Everything seems kind of muffled as he drives home, as he walks up to his apartment. He takes a few steps inside and stalls out, ears ringing with the sheer empty quiet of the place.

            Finally, he sighs, bringing a hand up to rub at his face and shrugs off his jacket. It’s not even that late, but he leaves the lights off, shucking his clothes and pulling on warm, soft pajamas, and climbs into bed, drawing the blankets close around his body.

            It’s like all the loneliness that had been driven away the past few months with Erin and Jay drops down all at once, leaving him breathless. This too is a kind of anxiety attack he knows, so different from the violent trigger based panic attacks Erin witnessed. His breathing isn’t shallow – in fact, he takes deep, steady breaths – but it doesn’t stop his head from spinning. Tears slide sideways across his face to dampen his pillow at his temple. He closes his eyes, and waits for sleep to pull him under.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously "Sweet Caroline" does not belong to me. "Lullaby" does.   
> Comments make me super happy!   
> I'll do my best to keep the updates rolling weekly for now.


	18. 18

_Somehow, miraculously, he doesn’t dream of the convoy. For the first time in a long time, memories aren’t the only things that compose his nightmares. He dreams about the first nights of basic training, the first time he felt like drowning in loneliness, an orphan headed off to war, and the eyes of people he’s killed, the roar of helicopters and the scream of air strikes. But then he stands alone, winds slapping sand into his face, swirling viciously, distorting vision, and ahead he can just make out the figures of two people walking away, unbothered by the sand. Jay, Erin. He shouts, but the sound is choked by the storm. Clumsily, he charges after them, and then echoes of gunshots break through the wind, screaming, and explosions, and still Jay and Erin walk unflinchingly on ahead, and he follows, skin burning from the lashing of the dust._

_He stumbles, and when he looks up, shadows loom in front of him. Jay and Erin stand before him, faces contorted with rage, features sharpened. Whatever they shout doesn’t make it to Mouse’s ears, but they throw barbed words at each other, and then hands shoot out; a slap, a clawing scratch, a shove, a kick. Mouse lunges between them, and they turn their voiceless shrieks on him, shoving him into the dirt, kicking him down, and as he spits sand out of his mouth they stalk off, in opposite directions, Mouse shouting hoarsely after them, until they vanish into the sand._

            He opens his eyes and cringes from the faint light stabbing in through his window. His head feels stuffed with cotton, his tongue and throat painfully dry, like he’d really swallowed sand. The dream from the night before begins to slip away, and he clutches at it bewilderedly – _Jay and Erin in a sandstorm…?_ He sighs, clambering stiffly out of bed to the bathroom where he gulps cold water from the tap and then slips into the shower, standing under the warm spray until the ache in his limbs quiets. The hollowness in his chest though, that stays.

            The weather is appropriately grey when he walks outside, chilly and damp. He tugs the collar of his jacket closer around his throat on the way to his car. He doesn’t bother turning on the heat as he drives; by the time it kicks in enough to actually start blowing warm air he’ll have arrived at the station.

            When he pulls in and glances at his watch, he’s dully surprised to find that, while not late by any means, he’s not early, even though he woke at his regularly early hour. Somehow the time slipped away without his noticing, and he can’t piece together where it went. He clambers out into a now misting rain and begins trudging to the district.

            “Mouse!” He’s almost at the door when Erin’s voice registers faintly, and he turns to see her hurrying towards him, shoulders hunched up against the rain. “Hey,” she says slightly breathlessly as she catches up and joins Mouse on the way into the building. Inside, she shakes herself out, twitching the gathered water droplets off her jacket. Mouse runs a hand absently through his hair; it comes away wet, and he flicks the water to the floor where the tiny drops disappear into the abstract pattern of slightly muddied footprints. He sets off towards the stairs to Intelligence, only to notice from the corner of his eye an absence where he expected the flash of Erin’s figure. He stops, turning to see her still standing several steps behind, inspecting him. She studies him for a second longer and then takes several long strides to come up beside him. “Are you okay?” she asks gently. Mouse blinks, and swallows, though in no way should this question surprise him.

            “I’m fine.” He makes to continue up the stairs, stopped by Erin’s hand, gently but firmly grasping his arm.

            “Mouse.”

            Some quiet part of his mind is cataloguing how unusual this action is. Tactility between them is the exception, not the norm. _Keyes, panic attack, impromptu guitar lesson._ Especially standing as they are, in the middle of the district. Here, even with Jay and Voight, Erin seems to limit touches like this.

            “I’m fine, Erin,” he says again, tugging a smile onto his lips. She doesn’t look convinced, but lets her hand slip back to her side as he leads the way up the stairs and through the gate. Voight is already ensconced in his office, and Alvin is tucked away at his desk. Mouse drops into his chair. Erin hesitates beside him, only for a moment, just a hitch in the pattern of her footsteps before she continues on to her own desk.

            He pulls up the log from the past night and starts reading. _Robbery in Canaryville, murder downtown, armed robbery, carjacking, warrant for arrest, BOLO, missing person…_ A crinkling thump makes him look up. Jay stands over his desk, having just dropped a cup of coffee and a bag in front of him. _Jay and Erin came separately?_

            “Eat,” Jay commands, looking pointedly at the bag, and Mouse realizes that in the haze of the morning he had forgotten to have breakfast. Mouse reaches to pull the bag over, but before he can, Jay closes his fingers around Mouse’s hand, squeezing once gently, holding Mouse’s gaze intently. Then he lets go and walks away, leaving Mouse staring at his fingers. He blinks, then stretches out his hand and tugs the bag towards him.

            The day passes uneventfully in the office. Sometimes if nothing big gets sent up the unit will troll for possible cases in other units or districts, and other days they’ll partner off and patrol around, backing up squads on calls. Today though, probably because they wrapped up a pretty big case yesterday, Voight is content to let any work come to them and otherwise catch up on paperwork or help out with backlog from the rest of the district. Days like this can be boring, but they make for a nice break, and now and then it’s nice to clock out like regular people at the end of shift.

            The end of the day sneaks up on Mouse; he checks his clock absentmindedly only to be surprised that its 5 minutes to quitting time. He packs up his things quietly, and slips out the door. He’ll be gone by the time Erin and Jay look up. The district entrance is bustling, a stark change from the drifting quiet of the Intelligence floor. Mouse skirts the edge of the clusters of people and steps out into the drizzling rain. The door clacks shut behind him, cutting off the sound of the people, replaced by the hiss of passing traffic on wet streets, rumbling engines and intermittent horns muffled by the moisture in the air.

            At his apartment, he tugs off his work clothes - slightly damp from the rain, which had grown heavier by the time he had to make the walk from his car to the apartment building – and pulls on worn old sweatpants, a soft t-shirt, and a baggy MIT sweater. The sweater was his father’s, rescued along with a few other boxes of family things by Jay when Mouse was evicted from his apartment and disappeared into the streets for the next two years. 

            He sinks into the couch, tugging blankets around himself and clicking on the TV. Not for the first time, he wonders why he even pays for cable, other than the fact that for his whole life it’s always just been something that was done. _A matter for another day_ , he thinks wearily. For now, he clicks through the channels, going all the way around twice without really paying any attention. He settles on a channel playing gameshows – Wipeout is on right now, and later will come Wheel of Fortune and then Jeopardy – and drops the remote, retreating further into his blankets.

            The problem with this kind of… episode? attack? (and this is part of the problem too, the nameless grey haze of it, without definition, without true beginning or end), but the problem is that he doesn’t know how to fight it. No, that’s not right; the problem is that he doesn’t know how to _want_ to fight it. It swallows him, not just his happiness, but his determination, his willpower, his stubbornness, sucked dry. He’s not sad. He’s empty.

            Wipeout has bled into Wheel of Fortune when he distantly hears a key click in the lock, and then the creaking groan of his door swinging open. The light from the hallway spills and seeps invasively into his apartment, dark with the lights off and the shades drawn and evening having crept in. He can hear them bustling in the entrance way, but he doesn’t move. He hears footsteps, rustling bags, a clunk of something being put on the counter. He still doesn’t move. He hears muffled voices, not quite whispers, but quiet mutters. More footsteps. The only sign that he is aware of their presence is a slight increase in his heartbeat, invisible to the casual observer.

            “Hey, Mouse.” Erin steps into the room, voice muted but striving for casualness. She doesn’t get there. Mouse says nothing. Trying to seem un-phased, she continues to stride slowly towards him, and in one fluid motion, she lifts his feet from the couch, sits down, and replaces his blanketed feet in her lap. Mouse’s fingers twitch, tightening around the blanket, hidden from view. He says nothing. More footsteps. Jay strides into view. He doesn’t say anything, just levers Mouse’s shoulders up, slides onto the couch, and props Mouse against himself. Mouse’s shoulders tense, pulse picking up a notch. He says nothing.          Jay and Erin glance at each other over Mouse’s head – he feels Jay’s head turn, sees Erin’s turn to meet him in peripheral vision. Then they turn and pretend to watch the TV.

            Erin’s hands rest gently over Mouse’s ankles and Jay’s thumb rubs soft circles on his shoulder. Mouse’s pulse races. Ants crawls across his skin. A snake curls round his throat and constricts slowly, infinitesimally. Mouse keeps still and silent and his eyes on the TV as the senseless anxiety rises like floodwater through one commercial break, then another, all the while willing his pulse to slow. It doesn’t. _Stop it, this isn’t right, why is this… stop it, just breathe, relax, why can’t I just –_

            Something breaks. Some threshold passed, and he can’t stand another second, body jerking into motion, scrambling off the couch, blankets shucked to the floor, fleeing.

            “Mouse!?” He hears Jay call after him in alarm. He just keeps moving until he gets to the bathroom – not because he’s going to be sick, not this time, but because it’s the one room in the apartment with a lock on the door. He knocks the door shut behind him, fumbling fingers twisting the lock, then stumbles backwards until he hits the wall, sliding to the floor. He curls his knees to his chest, hands rising to press at his temples, run through his hair. His breath is loud and harsh in his ears. His skin prickles, throat tight, but his eyes stay dry.

            Time stretches out and compresses, and then there’s a soft knock on the door. The doorknob jiggles slightly, and Mouse’s pulse jumps.

            “Mouse?” He wasn’t expecting it to be her. “Mouse, can you please let me in?” She pleads, voice strained. “Mouse, Jay… he’s really worried; he’s trying not to show it, because he doesn’t want to scare me, but…” he hears her pause and take a breath, and when she continues it’s only just louder than a whisper. “But I am scared, Mouse. I’m scared for you. Please let me in. Please.”

            And the thing is, he wants to. He wants to open the door so she’ll stop being afraid. But his body doesn’t want to cooperate. It’s a silent invisible struggle. He wins, though, just enough to stretch out a hand and click the lock. He hears her let out a rush of breath, and the door snicks open slowly. She opens it wide enough to slip inside, and swings it back so it rests against the doorframe, not quiet closed. She steps over beside him and slides down the wall, leaving a foot of space between them. His pulse jumps as he waits for her to speak, but she doesn’t. She just crosses her arm over her stomach and leans her head back against the wall.

            Slowly, gradually, the ghost sensation of her body sitting next to his stops feeling like lightning, and starts feeling like a hearth, emanating warmth. He closes his eyes, waiting.

            It’s 15 minutes before Mouse’s pulse and breathing even out to a regular rhythm, the pressure in his throat loosening. He leans his head back, arms slipping to rest his hands on the floor. He sees Erin move out of the corner of his eye, and looks over. Her hand is hovering near his own, and she watches him, asking permission. He nods slightly, and her fingers twine through his. They sit quietly a moment longer before Erin breaks the silence.

            “Ready?”

            Mouse nods again, and Erin stands, then helps tug Mouse to his feet too, and they walk back to the living room. The lights are on now, and the shades open. Jay stands by the window, looking out and facing away from them, shoulders drawn up in a tense line. He turns as Mouse and Erin walk into the room. He’s pale, eyebrows drawn together, eyes intensely blue with worry. Erin releases Mouse’s hand gently, and stops partway through the room, but Mouse keeps walking. He strides purposefully up to Jay and slips his arms around him.

            Jay sucks in a sharp breath of relief and wraps his arms around Mouse, pulling him in closer. Finally, Mouse’s muscles start to relax, and he rests his head on Jay’s shoulder, closing his eyes. He feels Jay’s hand grasping tightly at the back of his sweater, Jay’s breath shuddering slightly across the back of his neck, the drop of a tear.

            “Not your fault,” Mouse whispers into Jay’s skin, “not even a little.” He feels Jay shaking his head. “C’mon.” Mouse swivels, still holding Jay, Jay still holding him, and they stumble to the couch where Erin is curled, watching them with soft eyes. They sit, Mouse in the middle, and Erin scoots a little closer so her knee rests over Mouse’s leg.

            “Should’ve known better,” Jay mumbles.

            “Jay,” Erin says quietly.

            “Selfish, asking you to play that.”

            “Jay,” Mouse whispers. “It’s not- It wasn’t about- I wanted to play it. And it wasn’t just-” Mouse huffs in frustration, struggling to find words that make sense. He shifts so his left hand is holding Jay’s, and runs his free hand through his hair, letting it flop to his lap. He worries his lip, staring at the wall. He feels Erin’s hand sneak over and entwine with his, and looks over where she gives him a small patient smile.

            “It was just… like a catalyst. But it would’ve happened sooner or later no matter what, I think. It’s just… these past months, it’s the most content I’ve been in… a really long time. And it’s like, happiness can’t be trusted to stay, like the happier you are the more likely it is that something terrible is going to happen, and the farther there is to fall, you know?” The words seem to be coming from somewhere else, like he’s hearing them and just then realizing that they’re true. “And it’s not a conscious thing, but I was just… waiting for the other shoe to drop, and eventually… just crashed. And it was too much to be around the people that make me happy, too much to feel anything… so I just… stopped.”

            He runs out of words, and silence drops down on them. He stares down at his hands, paler and colder than both of those with which they’re entwined. With trepidation, he glances over to Jay. His face is pale, eyes wide and pained and lost. Mouse swallows the rising lump in his throat and turns instead to Erin. She’s staring down at their hands at first, but raises her eyes to meet his. She’s teary, but the thing that makes his breath catch is the look of recognisant epiphany, the understanding, the flicker of fear.

            “So where do we go from here?” Erin asks quietly. Mouse shrugs.

            “Forward? On, like always?”

            “Just… please don’t shut me out like that Mouse,” Jay says hoarsely. “I thought… I thought you were slipping away again.”

            “I’m not leaving, not again. I promise.”

            They stay entangled on the couch a while longer, sitting with their silence. The volume on the TV gets turned back on, partway through Jeopardy. Mouse is the first to toss out an answer for a clue, and soon they’re all throwing out answers, laughing when they’re wrong. When the episode ends, they migrate to the kitchen where they make dinner, chicken broccoli alfredo with the ingredients Jay and Erin brought.

            They go back to the living room with their bowls and watch an episode of Doctor Who, Erin in the middle, leaning back against Jay, Mouse’s legs entwined with hers as he leans back against the other arm of the couch. They watch another episode, and one more…

            He wakes up in the morning, easily shedding the lingering feeling of a nightmare, legs still tangled with Erin’s, Jay’s arm around her middle. He blinks blearily, muscles protesting as he shifts. Erin groans, Jay winces as he raises his head.

            “M’ning,” Erin mumbles.

            They struggle up to standing, bodies stiff and muscles aching. Mouse rubs at a crick in his neck and stretches his limbs, wincing as they resist the movement, but for all that his body hurts, standing in the pale sunlight, the morning traffic sounds already creeping in through the windows, Mouse feels wonderfully light and whole.


	19. 19

Over the next few days, Mouse feels Jay and Erin’s eyes lingering on him often during quiet moments at work. The scrutiny occasionally makes the back of his neck prickle, but for the most part the awareness of it is just like a soft brush against his skin, familiar and even comforting. He doesn’t say anything about it, content to let them reassure themselves, just as he and Erin did that first night in Jay’s apartment. Mostly Mouse is thankful that despite the way they watch him quietly, they don’t start to treat him like fragile glass.

            At least, not until almost a week later, the day Voight barks “Full unit gun requalification, before end of shift.” Jay and Erin grin mischievously at each other, a challenge, and through the morning the team razz each other. Near the end of the day, the unit is getting ready to head down to the range, and Ruzek, grinning and bouncing, stops in front of Mouse’s desk.

            “Hey, Mouse, my man, you gonna come down and show us what you can do?” Mouse glances up, Ruzek’s meaning taking a moment to sink in, but Ruzek is already talking again. “C’mon, man, you were a Ranger, so we know you can shoot, and we know you got some moves. I’m curious, you’re curious, right Atwater?”

            “Huh?” Atwater glances up from his desk where he’s messing with the keys on his computer. “Oh, yeah, yeah,” he agrees absentmindedly.

            “Uh.” Mouse glances over to see Erin biting her lip, Jay with worried eyes.

            “That’s cool right, Boss? If Mouse comes down to the range?” Ruzek calls over to Voight. Mouse turns to look at Voight, silently pleading that he’ll say no, no a civilian can’t go to the range with the cops, no, Mouse can’t shoot a gun. But he keeps his face impassive, habit or choice, or fear of seeming weak. Voight casts an appraising gaze over Mouse.

            “Yeah, let’s see what you got kid.”

            And suddenly saying no is no longer an option, if it ever was. So Mouse ignores the looks on Erin and Jay’s faces and stands.

            They troupe down to the gun range, and Mouse leans against the wall and watches as the team runs through their official requalification. Voight and Olinsky are carelessly casual; Voight strides up, thrusting his gun arm out and firing, _tactactactactactac_ , fast and aggressive. The sound doesn’t seem real to Mouse, like in the terror from bangs like slamming doors and fireworks he has forgotten what a gun sounds like, up close, in person, forgotten what the real sound of a gun means. He doesn’t flinch. Olinsky slumps over in his mellow way and fluidly raises the gun, _pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop,_ then sets the gun down, takes off the muffs and slumps off. Antonio wanders over and picks up the gun, squares his shoulders and fires, _pap, pap, pap-pap-pap-pap._ Ruzek struts in, squaring up theatrically. He takes a moment to line up – for all his bluster he still knows the seriousness of this moment – and then fires, _bang, bang-bang, bang-bang, bang,_ then straightens up, puts the gun down and squints at his target. Atwater swaggers up, carefully checking his weapon and sighting the targets before, _pow, pow, pow, pow, pow, pow,_ deliberate and patient. Erin glances at Mouse before she walks to take her place, small hands wrapping around the black metal, swinging it up. Mouse doesn’t watch the bullets rip yawning holes in the target – he sees only the way her hands expertly catch the kickback, _snap, snap, snap, snap, snap, snap_. Jay strides up last, taking up the gun familiarly. Mouse watches Jay force the anxious tension out of his stance, taking a single breath, and then he brings up the gun, exhales; _bam-bam-bam-bam-bam-bam._ They all use the same gun, in the same room, at the same distance, but somehow the sound is different each time, or maybe that’s just Mouse trying, or trying not, to remember what a gunshot sounds when it’s his hands, his gun, his bullet.

            “Alright!” Ruzek says, patting Mouse on the shoulder enthusiastically as Mouse straightens up from the wall and steps forward.

            “Mouse,” Jay says quietly beside him, fingertips resting out of sight on Mouse’s wrist. Mouse glances at Voight – watching expectantly, hands in pockets – and Mouse gives Jay a tight smile and steps up to the range.

            The Glock 17 is a type he hasn’t used since basic training. He remembers the light press of the Glock 19 in its holster; they didn’t use it all that often really. _A handgun doesn’t really cut it in war._ But they’re similar guns, and his hands remember. He snaps on the muffs – _a luxury,_ he thinks cynically – and any sound of the others floating behind him is extinguished.

            He picks up the gun and his fingers move without thinking, nimble and steady and quick. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t stop to think or plan. His body remembers, like instinct. He raises the gun and fires, onetwothreefourfivesix, into the target at the end of the lane. And this, finally, is what a gunshot sounds like. He places the gun on the table and slips the muffs off.

            “Damn,” Ruzek laughs as Mouse’s target slides along the track to the front. Two holes around the centre of the head, four in the centre of the chest. _“Remember, two to the chest, one to the head. You never know how resilient those fuckers can be.”_ A familiar pattern twice over, as instinctual as the rest. Mouse ducks his head, looking away from the dark empty circles on the target. Let Ruzek think it’s modesty.

            It’s not; Mouse knows he’s a good shot, at least from close to mid-range. He was a good enough sniper to pass Ranger school, but if anything was going to fail him out it would have been that. But when it comes to closer range, Mouse is as good as Jay. Maybe better. There was a time when Mouse took pride in that; before he learned that being a better shot really just meant being better at killing. If he didn’t know firsthand how the way tiny figures crumpling in a scope, like puppets cut free, the way the people screamed and heads swivelled looking for a source, like an act of God… if he didn’t know how much these things haunted Jay, he might have envied him the distance.

            When he does glance up again, he doesn’t look at Ruzek, or Jay or Erin. He looks at Voight, still standing, hands in pockets, in the same place. Still watching him. Voight doesn’t look away when Mouse catches him staring, of course not. Mouse thinks he sees satisfaction in Voight’s face, but also, he could almost swear, sadness, a kind of apology… Voight looks away.

            “Not bad, kid,” Olinsky says, patting Mouse on the shoulder, and continuing past to amble out of the range. Antonio chuckles and follows Olinsky. Mouse walks after them, Ruzek falling into step behind him and the rest of the unit trailing them. They emerge from the stairs to the main floor, sunlight glinting off the floor, illuminating the dust tracked in. Mouse squints in the brightness. The unit starts heading up the stairs to Intelligence to pack up. Mouse hesitates, feet stuck to the floor – “Mouse?” Jay’s voice – and then he’s moving, not up the stairs but out the door where it’s sunny but brisk. Goosebumps rise on his skin.

            They find him around the side of the building, leaning against the chill of the brick, head down, hands in pockets. They flank him against the wall.

            “Hey,” Jay says softly. “You okay?”

            Mouse swallows, eyebrows drawing together.

            “I don’t know.”

            Erin puts her hand on his arm. He doesn’t look up.

            “I’ll get our stuff.” She squeezes his arm gently then lets go, and he listens to her footsteps as she walks away. Jay shuffles closer so their shoulders press together. Mouse sighs and rests his head on Jay’s shoulder, closing his eyes. His eyelids glow red from the sunlight on them, illuminating the spider webbing of veins. His body feels heavy, exhausted as though he’d done something much more strenuous than pull a trigger.

            He hears the clatter of Erin’s shoes trotting on the sidewalk, a rising crescendo until she comes to rest in front of them.

            “Hey, ready to go?”

            Mouse feels Jay nod and opens his eyes, raising his head with effort. Erin, in front of him, presses bundles he recognizes as their bags and Jay’s jacket into Jay’s arms. Mouse’s jacket she hangs onto, wrapping it around his shoulders, the soft fabric seeming to scrape across his skin. She slides an arm around his waist, and again he’s struck by this, the casual comfortable way that she touches him, she, a woman all too familiar, like him, like Jay, with how the body can be a weapon, flesh poison, touch pain.

            Erin guides Mouse to the car – hers – and he slides into the backseat. Jay passes Erin the keys and slides in after him. They pull out of the lot, leaving Mouse’s car behind. Belted into their seats, the middle space yawns between Mouse and Jay, and Jay wraps a hand around Mouse’s to bridge the gap. Mouse entwines their fingers and rests his head against the window, staring out at the street. Erin parks at Jay’s building and they unfold from inside the car, this time Jay wrapping an arm around Mouse’s waist, lightly, gently, afraid he might break. Mouse might be annoyed except for the fact that his bones feel made of glass.

            They sit him down on the couch. Jay wraps him in a blanket, Erin gets him a glass of water. They perch on the cushions beside him, and when he doesn’t flinch, settle in further. The electricity of the lightbulbs seems to hum in the silence. He can almost taste Jay’s concern, Erin’s growing nervousness. He frowns at the glass of water on the coffee table, condensation beading on the surface.

            “The last time I fired a gun,” he begins at last, “I killed 11 people.” He brings his knees up to his chest. “Whatever else they were, whatever they did to us, they were still people.” Jay’s breath hitches. “Someone’s father, brother, son, best friend… They believed in what they were doing too. I used to wonder if they had nightmares, if they went to bed at the end of the day, after what they did, and laid awake, and if we haunted them like they haunt us. If their hands felt unclean. If they told themselves the ends justified the means. If they felt fear, regret, remorse before the bullet hit them.” His finger traces around the other wrist absentmindedly, the scarring so faint it can only be seen at the right angle, in the right light, if you know what you’re looking for. “People talk about serial killers, who killed 5, 9, 13 people, and call them monsters. 13 people, like it’s an immense number.”  His hands still. “You ever count?”

            The question slips out and he wishes he could swallow it, wishes he could swallow every word he just said, cram them back inside his brain. Because he looks up at Jay, so pale, freckles standing starkly out on his skin, eyes dark with pain, and he knows that every word was a knife, carving into familiar scars, and he could have carried those poisonous words inside him, could have borne their sharp heavy weight, he could have swallowed them back the rest of his life to not be the reason Jay’s breath comes in short, half slipping into the hell they’d clawed their way out of.

            “Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispers, pulling his limbs in closer, making himself small, trying to pull the shrapnel back inside, suck the explosion back in, undo the collateral damage. But that’s not how the world works. You can’t unexplode a bomb – _I should know._

Jay’s arms wrap around him, lightly trembling limbs, and rests his head against Mouse’s shoulder, and whispers Mouse’s own words back at him. “Not your fault.” Mouse squeezes his eyes shut. _Do you ever count? Do you, could you, like me? One, two, skip a few… How much blood is on our hands? How much of it innocent?_ Suddenly he remembers Erin, and his eyes open, heart like a newly rung gong, and he looks at her.

His breath freezes in his lungs at the look of horror in her eyes, wet with tears, but then she lays a hand on Jay’s arm, the other on Mouse’s hands and the look in her eyes melts into an immeasurable sadness, and he realizes she wasn’t horrified by him, but for him.

“I don’t know if you guys are ready to talk about this stuff with me,” Erin says quietly, “but if or when you are, I’m here. Okay? I’m here.” She squeezes Mouse’s hands gently. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead on his knees. _Ready? No such thing, not for this._ But even so, maybe Mouse would say more, maybe he would, except it’s not only his story. It is inextricably entangled with Jay’s, twisted up until the different strands of their pasts, their experience, blend together, become indistinguishable. And however wonderfully equal it feels, the three of them together in this place, in the end Erin is tied to Jay first, strongest, most. And it’s not for Mouse to tell this story. _You can’t unexplode a bomb, but you can defuse it, contain it, move it._ So these knives he swallows.

Jay withdraws, leaving one arm around Mouse, shifting to catch Erin’s hand. Mouse feels the sudden negative space where Jay’s other arm had rested. He opens his eyes and shifts to cross his arms on top of his knees, resting his chin on them and twisting his head to look at Jay. Some colour returned to his face, the pain in his eyes shut away again. Jay meets his eyes, maybe forgiveness, maybe apology. Mostly what Mouse sees is _not now, not yet, not for a long time, maybe not ever, right?_ Mouse ignores the clamoring of knives, and returns a small sad smile. _Right._


	20. 20

Mouse stays that night. After a long silence where knives settle back into their scarred crevices and Mouse drags himself out of the numb heavy horror that slid off the black gunmetal into his veins, anchored by the warmth of Jay and Erin beside him, Erin tugs her phone out of her pocket.

            “Order in?”

            Jay and Mouse nod. They order Indian; Erin and Jay push up off the couch when they hear the buzz signaling the arrival of their delivery, using their eyes to order Mouse to remain still. They bring the food into the living room, and as has become frequent habit, they put on an episode of Doctor Who while they eat. Mouse puts aside his mind and sinks into the comforting familiarity of the stories playing out on the screen, smiles even sneaking onto his lips at Erin’s flippant commentary.

            It’s Erin, this time, who fixes him in her gaze as the night draws on, and orders, “You’re staying.” So he does. It’s only sensible really, with his car still at the district. He drags himself off the couch to change into a pair of his sweats that live in Jay’s closet and an old shirt and brush his teeth. When he slumps back into the living room, Erin has laid out the couch for him, tugging the blankets into place. He smiles tiredly in thanks and sinks onto the couch. Erin passes behind the couch, trailing her fingers gently across his shoulders. Jay pads past from the kitchen and does the same, following Erin into the bedroom, and Mouse slides down, tugging the blankets over himself. Despite the returning achy anxiety in his bones, he drifts off to sleep quickly.

            _There are only two weeks left of the six months of their second tour. Two weeks until he and Jay ship home to base camp in Chicago again, leaving behind the sand, at least for a little while. They’ve spent the last two days preparing for this convoy mission, a five day trek round trip to deliver ammo and fuel to an FOB – arriving there on the third day, unloading, and getting the hell out of dodge and back to base. They’ve done many of these expeditions, long tense stretches of boiling sand under their treads. The very first time, they spent most of the trip in silence, gripping their rifles at every sound, prepared to be attacked at any second. Nothing happened on the way there. On the way back, they ran into a small group of rebels, and bullets dinged off the armour of the truck. Mouse and Jay shuffled out, using the vehicle and the doors as cover and the unit picked off their assailants. When the last gunshot cracked in the hills and silence fell, they climbed back into the truck, leaving the bodies to sink into the sand, forgotten._

_Since then, they’ve learned how to balance caution with calm. Stories and jokes pass around the truck. Eyes are never long away from the world outside – eyes meet in passing fragments, faces seen in the flash of a cheek here, an eyebrow there. Mouse is intensely familiar with the view of Rev and Hollingsworth from the back, the bristled neck below a helmet, the breadth of a shoulder, the shape of an ear. What he knows best, though, are their voices; it is their voices that he will remember most._

_They are up before dawn for the final preparations. There’s a half moon in the sky, bleaching the sand grey, and despite the bustle of activity around the camp, it presses a blurred quiet down on them. The horizon is seeping the first beginnings of dawn when their convoy rumbles out of the camp._

_They’re in the lead Humvee, Mouse, Jay, Sticks, Hollingsworth, and Rev, driving as usual. The sun rises slowly, saturating the sand with red, glinting through the dusted windows, as they crawl across a seemingly endless track. Mouse absently imagines the bird’s eye view of a vulture circling the sky, watching their ant’s march, on and on. The convoy reaches their night stop just after the sun is swallowed by the horizon, climbing stiffly out of the Humvees. The FOB they’ve stopped at is reasonably well stocked and established, so they get warm meals and clean beds for the night. They’re up before dawn again to eat, top up their water stock, and clamber back into formation, and rumble out into the smoky predawn._

_“Mind if I drive a while today?” Hollingsworth to Rev, minutes before they set out for the day. Hollingsworth to Rev, face thrown in shadow in the dim world; Hollingsworth to Rev, a throwaway; Hollingsworth to Rev, not the first time, but the last. Rev: a shrug._

_“Sure.”_

_It’s just after noon, sand on all sides, dunes rising up like rolling waves around them, no civilization in sight. Mouse sits between Jay, on his right, and Sticks on his left. They each keep their eyes out the side window; Mouse watches forward, occasionally craning his neck to check the glimpses of the procession behind them, disappearing into billows of dust kicked up by the treads._

_“-so this guy is unbelievably drunk, and he pulls out his pistol to prove it, and all the other guys are egging him on, because they’re all drunk as fuck too, and the barman is shouting, but the guy lines up the shot and everyone gets out of the way and he’s wobbling all over and pulls the trigger. And nothing happens, because like any sane person, his girlfriend has taken all the bullets out without him noticing, and oh my god, the look on his face! He was so confused!” Rev laughs, the three of them in the back chuckling along, and Rev half turns in his seat, face illuminated by mirth. Mouse’s eyes flick over to meet Rev’s grin; and then there’s a stabbing flicker of a metallic reflection somewhere to the left of the horizon, Mouse reaches out to grab the back of Rev’s seat, leaning forward to call out-_

_A whisper. This moment would replay over and over in his mind the next weeks, tumbling over itself until he couldn’t tell if the whisper was memory or mirage._

_“I’m sorry.”_

_The sky splits, or the ground does, weightless and tumbling and wrenching metal screams-_

Mouse’s eyes flash open in the dark living room. Body frozen and breath oddly even, he lays silently, becoming aware of the cold gathering of sweat at his temples, the hum of the refrigerator, searching his senses for what wrenched him out of the nightmare. Finally, his awareness settles at the doorway between the bedroom and living room. It’s not any one specific thing that he could pick out that tells him that Jay is leaning against the wall. Mouse lays still, waiting for Jay to come in and click on the TV. After a minute, it becomes apparent that he won’t, and still Mouse doesn’t move, breathing steadily, staring up at the blank ceiling, until he hears Jay pad back into the bedroom and the swish of the blankets as he crawls back into bed. Mouse pushes away a strange sense of loss and tugs the blankets closer, closing his eyes and searching for sleep.

When it comes, it comes slowly, fearfully, and he falls into a different nightmare altogether. The kind that is frightening in its emptiness where he falls again into the hollow agony of lonely months dichotomized into highs and crashes, always dazed, skittering, greedy and guilty and aching. It is the kind of nightmare in which nothing happens, not really, but when the morning comes he wakes breathless.

Jay is already awake; he can hear him immediately, quiet puttering in the kitchen. Erin, he expects, is still asleep. Soon, though, her alarm will shrill in the other room and she’ll come stumbling out. Mouse reaches a hand into his pocket, running his thumb over the warm metal of the coin, feeling the ridges on his skin, tracing circles. He sighs, then throws off the blankets and stands, stretching out his muscles, and wanders into the kitchen.

“Morning,” Jay says, handing him a mug of coffee.

“Morning.” Mouse takes the mug and takes a sip to stop any other words flowing out of his mouth unbidden. Words like “why didn’t you come in last night?” or “are we okay?” or “I’m sorry.” Words that he knows Jay doesn’t want to hear, and Mouse isn’t sure he wants to say. For the first time since they first met, there’s something stiff in the air, an unbalanced tiptoeing. They’ve spent so much time on the same page, so exactly the same page, with their shared silence, the drive to be okay. Mouse wants to get rid of the strange energy in the air between them, wants to go back to before last night, before he brought up the thing they spent so much time dancing around. He wants to go back to being okay. But when silence is so much a part of how they got to okay, Mouse can’t think of any words that would do anything other than more damage. So he takes another sip of his coffee and says nothing.


	21. 21

Erin doesn’t seem to notice anything off when she wanders in, running a hand blearily through her hair. They eat breakfast and drive in to work together and if Erin’s eyes flicker with worry and curiosity to rest on Mouse more frequently than usual, well it’s not exactly surprising. Mouse ignores it. Business as usual.

The day passes, a new case landing on their desks when a triple homicide filters in from the beat cops. Mouse spends the day sifting through the lives of the dead, two men and one woman in their early thirties, while the rest of the unit is running around the city searching for answers. They stay late into the night, chipping away at a whole lot of dead ends. When Voight cuts them loose for the night, Mouse drives home in the dark, reheats leftovers from the night before last, and crawls into bed.

Without any real time to compartmentalize between work and sleep, it’s no wonder the case permeates Mouse’s dreams. Or, it would be no wonder, if it weren’t so unusual for recent events to feature in his nightmares. Usually they stick to older trauma. It leaves Mouse feeling off balance in the morning, just like the stiffness between he and Jay.

They’re back at it early. Mouse spends most of the day alone in Intelligence, only joined when the unit returns to regroup occasionally. It’s 5 o’clock when they make the arrest, 6 o’clock when they get their confession, and 7 o’clock when Mouse pulls into his parking space and climbs the stairs to his apartment. He sheds his coat, only trading it for a more comfortable sweater, and clicks on the TV. He doesn’t want to bother with much effort for dinner, so he puts on some water for pasta, flicking through channels while he waits for it to boil. The flickering lights resolve into the tuxedo skin of penguins shuffling through the snow, and Mouse’s fingers falter. The familiar, awkward animals stumble, one tumbling forward before finding its way to its feet. Mouse lifts the remote… then puts it down again.

When the water boils, he leaves the TV on, stirring in the noodles, and leaning on the counter to watch the TV and reaching over to stir occasionally. When it’s done, he brings his pasta back to the living room and burrows his way into his pile of blankets. He eats, then slides the bowl onto the coffee table and pulls the blankets tighter around himself and stares at the TV. The intensely familiar, soothing images and sounds wash over him.

When the screen becomes dark and the credits start rolling upwards, Mouse blinks, coming back to himself suddenly, like an elastic at the end of its reach snapping back into shape. His heartbeat thumps, foreign, in his chest. He realizes his left foot is asleep. His neck has grown stiff.

His whirling, winding thoughts, in which he got lost through the last hour, coalesce. He’d always thought that Jay was just better than him, or stronger, because after those first terrible months, he learned how to be okay. And when Mouse didn’t have keeping Jay together all the time to focus on, he started drowning. Spiralling deeper and deeper, and there was Jay, always, okay. Not perfect of course, still haunted, still hurting, but okay. And he was terrified that he might one day drag Jay down with him, so he disappeared. And only now did he begin to accept that there was another reason he left. Shame. Jay was okay, and he wasn’t, and he was ashamed of his weakness. And he lost himself trying to escape, trying to find ‘okay’ in all the wrong ways. Until that night, until the fireworks assaulting his ears sent him reeling, alone in a dark alleyway, and he took a pill to stop the panic, and then another, and then another, grasping for ‘okay’ until his vision swirled and his mind caught on a single lucid image of the empty orange bottle and shaking fingers made the three tones blare in his ears on the cheap phone.

“911, what is your emergency?” The cool voice of the operator had said, and Mouse struggled to force his stumbling mind and clumsy tongue to cooperate.

“Need ’n ambulance, accidental overdose,” he’d slurred. The rest was a blur but for images of startling clarity that would rise up in his dreams: a dirtied white roof, a pair of blue eyes, the flashing of the red and blue lights, mixing into bruise-like purple blurs. He’d woken to the scratchy warmth of hospital blankets and the papery fabric of the gown, the cold chemical smell, the overwhelming whiteness of the walls, and Jay’s sleeping body slumped in a chair.

He’d gotten clean, and done his best to be okay again. And while Mouse stumbled, and panicked, and failed, through it all, Jay was okay. At least, that was how Mouse had always understood things to be.

The things is, he thinks now that ‘okay’ is just a lie. Mouse isn’t okay. He hasn’t been okay since before his first tour, not really. _But,_ he thinks, _maybe that’s alright. Maybe I don’t have to be okay._ His fingers find the coin again, pulling it out and running it across his knuckles. _But I want to be okay, really actually okay, someday. And pretending isn’t the way to get there._ And keeping their silence is just another way of pretending. The coin spins around his fingers.

But he doesn’t want to tell a stranger, or a group of strangers. No matter how much they might be able to sympathize, talking to them wouldn’t be real. Not a bunch of people he has no real connection to. And he still doesn’t want their stories, their pain, their pasts. There are only two people he wants to talk to – and can’t. Not because Jay is okay, but because he isn’t. Because he never has been. For all that Jay was angry and broken and falling apart after they first got back, he never really accepted not being okay. Just like Mouse, he shoved it down and tried to escape; it just turned out that Jay’s way of running looked healthier, was better at pretending it wasn’t running. Jay probably even believed it, and Mouse couldn’t see a way to open his eyes without tearing everything they have to the ground. Mouse’s breath catches at the idea of Jay pushing him away, of losing him, and losing Erin.

An immense grief presses down on his chest. _Rock, meet hard place. Can’t go over, can’t go under, have to go through. Except how can I?_ Abruptly furious, his arm whips up and the coin goes whizzing across the room, ricocheting off the wall, leaving a sharp dent, and rolls across the floor. He doesn’t pick it up.

He picks up the TV remote again instead, opening Netflix and putting on Firefly. He watches, comforted by the familiar scenes, until it’s late enough to sleep. His dreams that night are erratic, jumping from scene to scene, like a horrific highlights reel. In the morning, he slumps out of his apartment, ignoring the small glint of sunlight on metal from the floor.

He greets Erin and Jay when they walk into the unit together, smiling and sipping his coffee like nothing has changed. Really, nothing has, except his perception. It’s too easy to slip back into the lie of ‘okay,’ except when he finds his fingers reaching for his pocket. His hands are more restless than usual. There’s a moment, after the news comes in that a beat cop in another district got shot – a minor wound, in the scale of bullets, through and through, flesh wound – and the unit are settling back into their chairs, back to work, where Mouse looks at Jay. Jay’s hands rest on his keyboard, unmoving, eyes staring blankly at the screen. For a second, Jay looks like an empty body, and then Antonio walks up to ask a question.

“Hey, Jay,” Antonio says, and Mouse sees the minute jolt as Jay comes back to himself, a flicker of ghosts in his eyes, and then Jay turns to Antonio, fine just fine.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

Mouse goes home to his apartment that night, shucks off his coat once again, and strides over to the living room wall, fingers finding the new groove impressed into the old paint. _Have to go through._ Mouse sighs and picks up the coin, slipping it back into his pocket.


	22. 22

Things are quiet over the next two weeks – not case wise, its never quiet for long in Chicago – but emotionally. Mouse’s nightmares are indistinct, manageable. The strange tension between Mouse and Jay begins to dissipate. Erin’s watchfulness over Mouse declines. Dinners proceed as usual. Mouse doesn’t say anything to Jay about his epiphany.

            But Mouse watches Jay with new eyes, subtly scrutinizing his reaction to cases, the moments when he zones out, his posture and expression when he thinks no one’s watching… It’s like looking in the mirror, reading his own mind in the way Jay holds himself. Jay is very good at looking like he’s fine, but tension uncurls itself and moves beneath his skin. Mouse wonders if Erin sees the way it coils, wonders, not for the first time, how deep her perception goes, what Jay has told or shown her and what he hasn’t. He wants to ask if she sees what he does, if she’s as afraid of broaching the subject with Jay as he is, if she tries anyway… But just like before, he knows that it’s not his place.

            It’s a clear night, the evening air crisp. Mouse eats dinner alone at his little dining table with a book, feeling the ghostly press of cold emanating from the window. When he finishes eating, he peers out the window at the street below, then impulsively slips on his shoes and grabs his jacket. Mouse wanders the streets slowly, hands in pockets, watching the people hurrying past. He spends so little time with people outside of Intelligence, there’s something foreign but also so familiar about immersing himself with the people on the streets. He remembers how people once became reduced to single crucial observations – kind, cruel, oblivious, who’s a threat, who isn’t. Now he watches them and wonders about their stories.

            It’s invigorating and unsettling, to be let himself _be_ with the people on the streets, to not be going anywhere, but just being part of the world. He goes home almost an hour later with a flush on his cheeks from more than just the chill, and climbs the stairs to his apartment. He’s looking down, rummaging for his keys in his pocket as he turns the corner and starts down the hall to his door. He looks up, and stops. _Erin?_

            She’s standing by his door, leaning against the wall, and she looks up as he approaches. Her face is tense, her hands worrying at the hem of her shirt where there’s a loose thread.

            “Hey,” he says curiously when he gets close enough to see the thread wrapped around her finger, the redness of cut-off circulation.

            “Hey.” Her voice is strained. Mouse sticks his key in the lock and opens the door, ushering Erin in. She hovers uncertainly in the hall while he pulls off his coat, and then he leads her to the couch. She perches on the cushions, and Mouse leaves her to grab two glasses of water from the kitchen. When he comes back in, she has settled into the couch a bit more, and he catches the flash of bronze between her fingers. She’s flipping the coin he gave her over and over between finger and thumb. He places one of the glasses of water in front of her on the coffee table, the other near him, and he settles into the couch, leaving just enough space that they aren’t touching, but are easily within reach. Her brows are furrowed and she doesn’t look at him at first, but he pulls his legs up to sit cross legged facing her and waits.

            “I was driving home, and I was stopped behind some cars at a light, and I looked over down this alley, and there was a buy going down, and this girl… for a second I swear it was Nadia, and then she turned, and I remembered, and it was like it was hitting me all over again. And then the light turned green and I hit the gas, and it was only when I stopped that I realized I hadn’t gone home – I was in the parking lot of a bar.”

            He sees her fingers tighten around the coin, and he knows that the edges will be pressing into her skin.

            “Did you go in?” he asks softly. She shakes her head jerkily.

            “But I wanted to. I wanted to forget.” Her mouth thins. “It’s so stupid, it’s been months and I’ve been fine!”

            “You know it doesn’t work like that,” Mouse says softly. “Pushing something away doesn’t make it not exist, even if you’re pushing it away in a way that looks healthier than drugs and alcohol.”

            “You think I’ve been pushing it away?” She turns to look at him. He shrugs.

            “Maybe. I think that maybe in a way, you did exactly what I did when Jay and I got back. Jay was hurt, and it gave you something to focus on that wasn’t your own loss, so you clung to the need to support him. And then the need to support me. But that didn’t make it go away, and it had to catch up eventually.” He pulls his own coin out of his pocket, flipping it between his fingers. “But even if that’s not what happened, grief and trauma aren’t logical. They don’t follow the rules.”

            “How do you know the difference between pushing it away, and being okay?”

            Mouse rubs his thumb along the surface of the coin, brow furrowed.

            “I don’t know. You’ll have to let me know if you figure it out first.”

            Erin huffs out a frustrated breath and draws her knees up to her chest.

            “Why is it so damn hard? Nadia got clean, Nadia would want me to stay clean and sober, and I should want that, so why is it so damn hard?” She directs the bitter question to the ceiling.

            “Because she’s not here.” Mouse says quietly, mind wandering to the brothers he left behind in the desert. Erin turns to look at him with watery eyes. “We made a pact, our unit. After the first suicide in our camp. We promised that no matter what happened, no matter how bad it got, we’d never give up. We’d never throw away the lives that our brothers died to let us keep. Sometimes I think the idea of the shame of breaking that pact is the only thing that kept me alive. Or maybe it was knowing that Jay would be the one who had to identify my body. But not actively dying… it’s not the same as living. It took a long time for me to find… the strength, I guess, to face life.” He pauses, his skin itching with the echo of hospital blankets. “I guess my point is that just because you know that she’d want you to be okay, to be happy, it doesn’t change the fact that grief and guilt are volatile. It doesn’t make it any less hard to face. And wanting to escape doesn’t make you weak.” He furrows his brow, wrinkling up his nose. “That didn’t make much sense.”

            Erin chuckles, the sound catching a little in her throat, and pats his hand.

            “It made enough sense.”  She shifts closer on the couch so her leg presses up against his knees. “I can go a whole day without thinking about it, and then some little thing reminds me and it’s like being hit from behind. Is it still like that for you?”

            Mouse hums, a soft rumble in his throat.

            “Sort of. It’s hard to separate grief from… from trauma. They’re tangled up together. Sometimes it’s like you said, but in a way, it’s never not, I don’t know, affecting me?” He shrugs. “Completely apart from being better or not, what happened, what I’ve done and been through… it’s part of who I am, and it never won’t be. It’s too much, too big, to not be part of me.” Erin nods in minute movement as he speaks, studying the coin in her hands.

            “One of the things that people say is that being an addict doesn’t define you…” Erin says slowly. “But it does. Even when I’m clean, even if I’m clean for the rest of my life, I’m still an addict. It does define me. It’s just that it doesn’t define all of me.”

            “Nadia defines part of you too,” Mouse ventures hesitantly. “Having her, and having lost her… it’s okay to own that and carry it with you forever. As long as, just as with addiction, you don’t start thinking it’s the only thing that defines you.”

            “I guess the hard part,” Erin continues, “is finding a way to carry the important stuff without drowning in it.”

            “Good thing we’ve got people to keep our heads above water.” Mouse’s lips tug up in a half smile. Erin glances over, hair swishing over her shoulder, and returns the soft smile.

            “Yeah, we do.”

            _Why did you come here instead of Jay’s?_ Mouse thinks briefly. His thumb brushes over the surface of his coin, and he sees her do the same. The question fades away.


	23. 23

The worst part of Victoria Wasson’s murder for Mouse isn’t the case itself; certainly death and murder and violence still bother him, but he’s used to it. No, what puts him on edge is the way Erin keeps scowling with betrayal, eyes wide with disbelief at Voight at every turn. He exchanges discomfited glances with Jay as Erin challenges Voight, and brings her a fresh cup of coffee after Voight leaves. She gives him a pained smile, and he nods, and gets back to work.

            And Erin challenges Voight again, and again, more times in one case than Mouse can remember ever happening before. The thing is, Mouse respects Voight, and the man is his boss. He gave him a second chance when Mouse was still climbing out of a dark hole. And Mouse is very aware that though he’s been accepted into the Intelligence family, there’s still a lot he doesn’t know, especially about Voight, so he’s reluctant to take a side. But Erin is so angry.

            He finds Erin toe to toe with Voight once again in Voight’s office as he brings the news about Charlie’s phone records.

            “Oh, I can come back,” he says, and it’s not Erin’s anger that makes him say it. He has a job to do, information to pass on, and Voight and Erin need to hear it, anger be damned. No, it’s the look in Erin’s eyes when she turns and sees him standing there; anger, yes, but also fear, the kind of fear that is like grief in advance. Mouse remembers what Erin said when she came to his apartment, about the hard part being carrying the important stuff without drowning. The thought flickers across his mind that Voight is Erin’s anchor, in more ways than one, and not all of them good. He is already turning to leave when Voight stops him, and Erin has hidden the fear away. He wants to reach out to her as she slides past him through the door, but Voight is right there, still looking displeased.

            And again. Erin and Voight.

            “You keep talking to me like I’m the guy who raised you instead of your boss. Go back to your desk until I need you.”

            Voight turns and leaves without looking back as Erin dumps her jacket on her desk and slumps into her chair, glowering at nothing. Mouse is pretty sure that this time the anger is fighting to cover up the sting of Voight’s parting words. He glances at Jay, and they move in synchrony, each perching on opposite corners of Erin’s desk. Jay sends a backwards look at the rest of the unit moving back to their desks and very obviously not looking their way.

            Erin lets out a frustrated sigh, bringing a hand up to run at her eyebrow, the other going to the pocket of her jeans where Mouse knows she, like him, keeps a bronze coin.

            “I don’t want to talk about it right now guys,” she mutters.

            “Okay.” Jay nods. Mouse gently knocks her leg with his shoe.

            “Doctor Who tonight? And Mint Chocolate Chip?” Mouse is gratified to see a smile, small, still strained, but genuine, bloom on Erin’s lips.

            “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

            Mouse nods, smiling, and pushes off Erin’s desk to return to his own. There’s still work to be done.

            And it gets done. It’s not clean, or just, or entirely within the lines of the law, and Mouse knows that Erin isn’t happy with the way things shook out. But when it comes down to it, Shelte is going to be punished for what he’s done. Voight and Erin talked, and if it didn’t resolve things, if she still arrives at Jay’s apartment with tired anger pulling her muscles tight, well, Mouse knows that it’s better than nothing. A hell of a lot better than some things. And he knows that they have Jay’s squashy couch, a blanket, a time-and-space travelling alien, and some ice cream to dull the sting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm BACK. Sorta. You know I'm not good at keeping a regular posting schedule. Just a short one for Never Forget I Love You. The next one, when I get to it, should be longer :)


	24. 24

When he gets the call from Jay, he knows right away what it’s about; he just finished looking through the preliminary info that Med sent over for the case. His breath had caught when he read the words _chemo overdose, no cancer,_ and he has her file pulled up before the phone rings. It hurts his heart to look at it, _Elizabeth Halstead_ in messy doctor’s scribe at the top of the scanned document.

            “What’s this asshole’s name?” Mouse says as he answers the phone, skipping right past the hello.

            “Reybold. Dean Reybold.” Jay’s voice says stiffly through the phone. Mouse’s fingers fly over the keys, checking the file before he sighs in relief.

            “No. He was never anywhere near her.”

            Mouse hears Jay blow out a breath and he imagines tension shaking loose from Jay’s shoulders. There’s a pause.

            “What? What is it?” Mouse asks, tensing again. A beat of silence, and Mouse imagines the hesitation on Jay’s face wherever he is on the other end of the line.

            “He treated Voight’s wife.” A stone drops into Mouse’s stomach.

            “Shit.” Mouse slumps back in his chair. “You guys watch out for each other on this one.”

            “Yeah, you got it. Thanks Mouse, see you later.”

            That night, when Mouse lets himself into Jay’s apartment, Jay is alone. Erin was still at the district when he left with no indication that she would be joining them that night. Jay is sitting on the couch with an open beer and the photo album on his lap.

            “Hey,” Mouse says softly, sliding onto the couch next to him.

            “Hey,” Jay sighs, thumb brushing over a picture of Elizabeth ( _“Call me Liz hun”_ ) hugging a small grinning Jay from behind in a park with summer-green grass. Mouse squeezes Jay’s arm, then pushes up off the couch to the kitchen where he sets to work on some dinner. After they eat, he and Jay sit on the couch flipping through the pictures, quietly remembering, and mourning, until it’s late. Erin never arrives, and Mouse crawls into bed with Jay, and they sleep, and they wake, and they get back to work.

            Mouse keeps an eye on Jay and Erin when he can as they work the case. Jay got most of his resurging grief out of his system the night before, so mostly, Mouse can see, he stays in the present, in control. Erin and Voight watch each other with pained eyes, and Jay watches Erin, and Erin doesn’t watch Jay. Unbidden, the memory rises in his mind of a quiet hockey game, the smell of spaghetti, and a battered boy asleep on the couch, of Erin’s voice – “ _I’m going to do better.”_

            He doesn’t want to feel disappointed. Doesn’t want to feel the stirrings of bitterness and resentment, but he does. It’s not the same, he knows. Not really. But this case is affecting Jay too, not just Erin, not just Voight. It’s personal for Jay too. And once again, Erin doesn’t see it. He tries to shake the thought away, but it festers in his mind.

            It’s a relief when the case is over, when after the turbulence, Reybold is convicted and escorted from the courtroom, and Mouse can try to start putting it out of his head. He shuffles out of the courthouse, tugging on his suit – he hasn’t worn one in a while. Erin and Jay are standing on the steps, and Mouse knows from their posture immediately that Jay is comforting Erin, and the thought rears its head again – _“I’m going to do better.”_ Mouse shakes his head angrily, and Erin looks up and meets his eyes, her brow furrowing in confusion. He jerks away, striding down the steps towards where he parked. He needs to go home and get the anger out of his system.

            “Mouse!” Erin’s voice cuts through the air, but he doesn’t turn. “Hey, Mouse.”

            A hand falls on his shoulder lightly, and he turns, and she’s there. Jay isn’t.

            “Hey, you okay?” She says curiously.

            “Am I okay,” Mouse repeats flatly. Erin’s lips purse with concern. Mouse exhales sharply through his nose. “You’re asking the wrong person.”      

            “I – what?” Erin draws back slightly, confused.

            “Jay, Erin. You’re doing it again. Did it even occur to you once to check how Jay is with this case?”

            Erin’s lips part as she tries to sort through his meaning. He can see the moment she realizes, the way her eyes widen, the pinch of pain at their corners.

            “Oh…” she breathes, lips contorting in a grimace of self-disgust, a visage with which Mouse is intimately familiar with, and he feels the pang in his chest that comes with knowing he’s hurt her. Again. Erin takes a step back, and turns to leave, head drooping, and Mouse grabs her hand, stopping her.

            “Erin,” he says, but she cuts him off.

            “No, you’re right. It’s my fault, it’s fine Mouse.” Her voice is tired, already resigned to adding another thing to the list of her mistakes.

            “No, it’s not,” the force in his voice surprises even Mouse, and Erin looks up at him, slightly bewildered.

            “Mouse?”

            “It’s not fine. It’s not the same; yes, Jay was affected by the case, but it’s not the same,” he presses on with conviction. “Reybold wasn’t one of his mom’s doctors. He _was_ one of Camille’s. Of course you’re going to be…” He waves a hand vaguely. “Jay wanted to be there for you, you didn’t do anything wrong. And it’s not okay that I got mad at you.” He shakes his head, looking away.

            “Mouse…” Erin says softly, twisting their hands so that she is holding his comfortingly. “It’s okay. You’re human too remember? And maybe… maybe I didn’t do anything wrong, but you’re still right that I should have _thought_. It didn’t occur to me to check on Jay, and it should have. That’s what you do with people you… people you love. You take care of them.” Erin squeezes his hand, and Mouse finds a lump in his throat as he swallows. There’s a pause, as Erin searches his face.

            “I was there,” he says, “when she died. I was there, holding Jay’s hand. She didn’t deserve to die, Jay didn’t deserve it.” He closes his eyes, pained, remembering the bright smile on her face when Jay introduced them the first time. “She was so kind.”

            “It’s okay,” Erin repeats, pulling him towards her, and suddenly her arms are around him. His own wrap tentatively around her, and they stand for a moment together before she pulls away with suspiciously bright eyes that he’s sure match his own, and she takes his arm.

            “Let’s go find Jay.”


	25. 25

His heart stops when they realize, when the words punch out of Jay’s mouth. “Lindsay’s with Tawny right now.” Mouse is scrambling to get the ping on the phone before Voight has time to say anything, and Jay is charging down the stairs, the rest of the unit on his heels. He confirms to Jay that from what he can tell they’re still in the same place he sent Erin, Jay hangs up, and then he waits.

            He flicks a pen frenetically between his fingers, feeling the tightness of apprehension in his chest, waiting, waiting, “Antonio, one offender down, find the other two!” Jay’s command comes through the coms and he clenches his fist around the pen. He takes a deep breath, trying to convince himself that if Jay is letting Antonio lead the rest of the chase, that must mean he found Erin, and since there was nothing about needing an ambo or anything, that must mean Erin is fine. Right? He chews on his lip, waiting for confirmation. A few minutes later his phone rings, and he snatches up the receiver.

            “She’s alright,” Jay says, pre-empting Mouse’s question. “Pissed as hell, but alright.”

            Mouse drops his head back against the chair.

            “Thanks, Jay. See you guys back here soon.”

            When Erin walks up the steps back into Intelligence and Mouse notices the redness at her throat, he has a sudden urge to jump out of his chair and hug her. He doesn’t, but Erin looks over and must see something in his eyes, because she veers towards him, squeezing his shoulder as she passes and giving him a reassuring smile. He lets his relief show plainly on his face, eyes flickering over to meet Jay’s after Erin passes, seeing the same kind of relief echoed on Jay’s face.

            He’s cleaning up the evidence board while Erin gets a cup of coffee, and he sees Jay wander into the break room after her. It’s not so much that he’s intentionally eavesdropping, more just that he’s not intentionally _not_ listening. And he hears how Jay’s voice is on the verge of wavering when he asks her not to go in alone again, and he’s glad that Jay is saying it. He’s glad Jay is letting himself be vulnerable like that to Erin, and he’s glad because Mouse was thinking the same thing, but he wasn’t sure he had the right to say it.

            Erin comes wandering back out of the break room and catches Mouse’s eye. He knows she knows he was listening, and she gives him a humoured quirk of an eyebrow, but Mouse meets her gaze steadily. Her face softens and she reaches out again, resting a hand on his arm for a brief moment. _Okay,_ she seems to say. _Never again_.

            Then she’s turning away again, and Mouse goes back to cleaning the board. As she leaves, Jay comes out of the break room and over to Mouse.

            “You almost done? Let’s get a drink; Erin’ll join us after she gives the family the news.”

            “Just about,” Mouse nods, swiping the eraser over the board, watching the names of suspects and victims disappearing once again. Soon, there will be new names, and new faces to haunt them as they work, but for now, the board is a blank slate. He piles the pictures, sliding them into the hardcopy file and sliding the file onto his desk, waiting for the final incident reports, and Voight’s signature, before it gets slotted into a box in the basement. Then he follows Jay out, leaving the room empty and dark behind them.

*************************

            It’s been weeks since the Victoria Wasson case, and while the tension between Erin and Voight has dulled considerably, it’s still a little bit there. That little bit of extra something that adds suspicion to Erin’s gaze when Voight brings Eddie Little in as a CI. It’s contagious – Mouse can’t help but watch Voight a bit more closely, his nerves on edge when Little is in the room. Mouse can see it has the same effect on Jay. He may joke with the unit about Little in the beginning but even then Mouse knows Jay is only playing at being relaxed. It’s uncomfortable, having the blatant reminder of Voight’s crimes hanging around, dragging shadows into the sanctuary of headquarters.

            Little throws off their gameplan, steers them off course, and Voight lets him. Mouse meets Erin’s eyes across the room and sees her hardened distrust, meets Jay’s and sees reflected unease. He doesn’t like the feeling that Voight is letting Little pull the strings.

            When Voight follows Little into the sports bar meeting with no backup and no eyes, Mouse feels his skin itch. He doesn’t like being blind. It’s his job to be the eyes in the sky, to turn cameras into allies and wires into ears, and Voight isn’t letting him do his job. He’s restless, the team milling about waiting for their return.

            When Little refuses to let Mouse mount the button cam, he’s almost grateful for the opportunity to volunteer the security cameras instead – it means he has to be on site. This time he isn’t blind, and he isn’t waiting restlessly behind. Little trying to make off with the money isn’t a surprise. Voight seeing it coming isn’t a surprise. Voight foiling his plans and taking him in… Mouse finds it reassuring, to have Voight’s loyalty to the team proven. To know that when he preens at Voight bringing him into the field, that when he picked up that gun at the range and tore open his own wounds, he wasn’t doing that for the Voight who first went to Stateville with Eddie. For all his faults, Voight isn’t dirty, and Mouse can still respect him. Can still find meaning in Voight’s respect for him.

****************************

            Everyone is riled up, knowing they’re on the trail of a potential dirty cop. Mouse may not wear the badge, or the uniform, but Intelligence has become his family, his home, and the cops he works beside are people he trusts. It’s sometimes hard to remember the time when he was the one running from the boys in blue, with the second life that they’ve given him. So he may not technically be a cop, but he’s angry right along with Jay’s righteous fury, and Erin’s betrayal and disgust. But when the plan comes up to put Erin undercover as a gambling drunk in the casino, Mouse hesitates, indignation usurped by concern, fingers finding the coin in his pocket – he’s not worried about her safety undercover (at least, no more than usual) but the persona she’ll be putting on… He worries it might hit a little close to home.

            Erin notices. She pulls him aside as she dons the glittering jacket and squeezes his arm.

            “Don’t worry.” She smiles reassuringly. “I’ve got this.”

            Mouse searches her face and she looks steadily back. Mouse’s chest eases at the certainty he sees.

            “Okay.”

            The sting works, but the perp isn’t a cop. He put on the uniform and put violence into it, and Mouse isn’t sure if it’s better or worse that the man putting fear of the police into a young woman is a fake.

            Except in the end, it really was one of their own who made it happen. Erin, Mouse, and Jay go back to Jay’s apartment and they make scrambled eggs and toast because they don’t feel like cooking anything more involved. They’re all quiet; conversation is minimal, but Mouse is satisfied that there isn’t tension between the three of them. Just contemplation. They put on an episode of Doctor Who, because this is what they do – soon enough, they’ll run out of episodes to watch. Mouse wonders what they’ll do then. They put their worries out of their minds and Mouse watches Erin more than he watches the screen as he tends to do. He knows the show so well by now it’s more fun to enjoy her reactions. He knows Jay does it too. Mouse can’t help but think of Amy Pond in a poncho and ‘her boys,’ can’t help but think how the three of them, like the Doctor and the Ponds, are tangled up in a mess of love that could never quite work itself out for all of them, but they held onto each other as tightly as they could anyway. In the end, there would always be the Ponds and there would be the Doctor, two plus one that could never quite balance out to three. Mouse was the odd one out, but that wouldn’t stop him from clinging to them as long as he could.


	26. 26

Mouse is on edge from the moment Yates’ name comes up. Voight pulls Erin into his office first, and Mouse doesn’t think much of it until they come back out, Erin standing at Voight’s shoulder and he can see the tension in her shoulders even before Voight opens his mouth and announces that she is going to New York. Going to talk to Yates. Mouse’s chest aches. The next thing Voight says is that Antonio is the one going with her, and Mouse’s gaze snaps over to Jay, can see the indignation and fear. Jay looks like he might speak, but Voight pins them all with a sweeping glare, daring them to contradict him. Jay looks at Erin, who shakes her head just slightly, jaw clenched, lips thin, eyes full of too many emotions to understand. Mouse can almost see Jay swallow his words, feels his own unease make itself at home in his chest.

            Voight is getting them on the next flight out, so Mouse and Jay barely have time to say their temporary goodbyes before Erin and Antonio are whisked out to a taxi, gone before Jay can do more than hug Erin tightly in comfort, Mouse stepping in close in the empty locker room for a rare hug too, Erin giving their hands one last squeeze.

            Mouse is anxious all day, feels it itch beneath his skin and its heaviness in his lungs as he struggles to focus on his own work. The anxiety spills over to the next day, and he knows it won’t go until Erin is safely back in Chicago and they can put Yates behind them again.

            When Voight steps out of his office and calls the unit to attention grimly, Mouse’s heart drops. “Yates escaped from prison this morning with an accomplice. It’s a manhunt.” For a moment everything stops, Mouse can sense the unit’s shock like a tangible thing reverberating in the silence. He feels sick.

            The unit is clamoring to fly out en masse to New York and join the search. Voight shoots them down, saying that they won’t make a difference by the time they get there, but Mouse thinks he can see that Voight wants it as much as any of them. So they stay where they are, but Voight doesn’t stop them from abandoning their other paperwork in favour of following the investigation in New York, doing what they can to help. Mouse searches through security camera footage, some of which he accesses legally, and some… well, less legally. He doesn’t much care. Realistically, they’re not accomplishing anything; Mouse knows this. But they have to do something. They keep working until they get the call from New York. Yates is coming home.

            When they arrive back that the station in the morning, Erin seems bleached of colour by stress and anger and grief. Mouse wants to gather her into his arms, wrap her in blankets on Jay’s couch and cocoon the three of them there until they wake from this nightmare. Instead, he pushes back the sick feeling in his stomach and grips his NA coin anxiously while he listens to the briefing, then slides back behind his desk. He watches Jay approach Erin cautiously, knows that when he asks if she’s okay, when she says that she is, it’s a band-aid kind of okay. The kind of okay that really just means “lets get through this, and deal with our shit later.” The kind he is intimately familiar with. So as much as he wants to pull Erin aside until it becomes a different kind of okay, he puts it aside, and gets to work.

            The thrill of fear at the potential of a bomb in the station is dulled by the restlessness of being separated from his equipment, unable to keep chasing Yates. Instead, he shifts anxiously from foot to foot, ensconced in tense silence beside Jay and Erin in the midst of the crowd. He feels utterly useless when the call from Yates drops before he can get a location, and sickened when he realizes Yates has been listening in through Erin’s phone. It’s a horrible feeling of betrayal at his technology being turned against them so intimately. And when he finds out Yates is in Erin’s apartment… He feels the sense of invasion keenly on Erin’s behalf, while another part of his mind absently notes that he himself has never been to Erin’s apartment. Now if he does go, it will always be preceded by Yates’s shadow.

            When he hears Erin coming up the stairs with unusual fervor after the team heads out, he thinks nothing of it at first. She’s pissed, he knows. But he snaps to attention at the click of her fingers, and starts working on the ping furiously when he realizes what’s happening. It takes a few minutes to get it, and then he’s scribbling the address on a post-it and charging towards the breakroom where he slaps the post-it to the glass. Erin looks at it, then back to the phone and he watches, and knows the minute Yates hangs up. Erin meets his eyes, staring at each other through the glass, and in that moment he sees the resolve and hate in her eyes and knows he’s made a mistake. His breath catches, and Erin is running, coat arching through the air as she grabs it, and he’s calling desperately after her, but she doesn’t pause, only throws one determined glance back at him, and then she’s gone. He’s shocked to stillness for only a moment, and then he’s scrambling for his phone and calling Voight, spitting the panicked words through the line – “Erin’s going after him alone. 34th and Sangamon.” He catches only Voight’s explosive “Shit!” before the line goes dead and Mouse is left in the deafening quiet of the district again.

            That’s all there is for long, long minutes. Quiet. Just the ringing in his ears and the fear swirling through him, choking him, knowing he let her go. Jay is the one who calls to let him know, because it’s always Jay who remembers that he’s there, waiting, alone. And he breathes a sigh of relief and hangs up the phone, fear extinguished. But now there’s something else. The seed of a bitterness that had been overshadowed by his panic, growing. Erin, in the breakroom with Jay, only weeks ago, making a promise, her eyes meeting his, seeming to make that same promise to Mouse, _never again, never again, never again_ , but she broke it, didn’t she? She went in alone, left Mouse with his panic, left Jay and Voight racing through the streets to catch her in case she fell, she _left. Alone._ Knowing that she was walking into a dragon’s den she might not walk out of.

            They clean up the case, and he sees Jay watching Erin tenderly, and the bitterness grows, another thing Jay has forgiven before asking for an apology. He stares hard at his hands, at his papers when Erin leaves before him with Benson. Jay asks if Mouse is coming back to his place. Mouse wants to say yes, he does. But he knows that Jay won’t let Erin go back to the apartment Yates invaded tonight, knows that Erin will spend the night in Jay’s bed while he comforts her, and he knows that the bitterness will burn under his skin all night. He says no. He ignores the surprise and hurt that flash over Jay’s face the best he can, taking their sharpness as his due. He goes home alone to his shitty apartment and lays awake for hours, and finally sleeps, falling into nightmares of Nadia’s body, and Erin’s blood in the abandoned halls of Yates’ childhood. The bitterness burns into fury and grief.

            The next day he can’t bear to look at Erin, but he’s pretty sure she doesn’t notice, lost in her own head. Jay might, but he tries not to meet his eyes either because he can feel his emotions simmering so close to the surface he is afraid anything might set him off. He goes home and lays awake and dreams and wakes. Today, Erin notices. She throws him bewildered glances throughout the day, each one grating against Mouse’s skin. He slips out a few minutes early, grateful for the escape. He nods to Platt on his way out, and is halfway to his car in the misty grey day when Erin catches up to him.

            “Mouse!”

            He turns automatically at her call, regrets it immediately. She jogs towards him, hair blowing in the wind, washed out by the overcast weather.

            “Hey, are you coming to Jay’s for dinner tonight?” She shoves her hands in the pockets of her sweater – it’s chilly out here, and she didn’t bring her coat. She looks up at him with doe-eyes and dark shadows.

            “No.” He tries to say it gently, despite the fire under his skin. She looks taken aback anyway.

            “Mouse,” she says imploringly, “what’s going on with you? Are you okay?”

            Mouse feels words writhing in his chest, rising with the pressure in his chest and he clenches his fist tightly, feeling his fingernails dig into the flesh of his palm.

            “You promised.” His voice is low, the kind Jay would immediately recognize as dangerous. He wonders if Erin knows it; he doesn’t think she’s heard him speak like this before.

            “What?” Her brows draw together.

            “You promised you wouldn’t go in alone.” His voice is sharper. Erin’s eyes widen slightly in recognition.

            “I’m sorry Mouse, but-”

            “No. You promised you wouldn’t go in alone, you promised. And what did you do? You went in alone, you went after Yates, who had already killed someone we care about, who was targeting you specifically, you went after him alone just like he wanted, and you left me standing there alone! Waiting for someone to call me and tell me that you were dead!”

            “Mouse-” Erin tries to interrupt, looking not a little shellshocked, but the words are tumbling out unbidden, his voice rising till he’s practically shouting and he’s distantly grateful there’s no one else in the parking lot.

            “You have no idea what it’s like sitting it the district every day, knowing at any moment one of you could get shot, or killed, and I can’t do a god damned thing about it! But at least I know that you have each other’s backs, because you don’t! go in! alone! You promised, and then you did it anyway! It was bad enough being in love with one reckless idiot, I don’t know what the fuck I did to deserve loving you too!”

            Erin is standing there wide-eyed and pale, and his chest is heaving and he’s so angry that it takes a moment to realize exactly what he just said. He freezes, every part of him going cold, eyes wide, _shit, shit, shit._ Erin moves like she’s going to step toward him, and he stumbles back whirling around and striding to his car, falling into it, fumbling with the keys and reversing out of the parking spot. As he drives out, he catches sight of Erin in his rear-view mirror, still standing exactly where he left her, without her coat, in the cold.

            It takes until he closes the door behind him in his apartment for his brain to really catch up with what he’s done. What he’s ruined. Because he has, ruined it. His mouth spewing out words he had never let himself consciously realize, words that should never have been spoken. The three of them had been balancing on a delicate tightrope, and he just shoved them tumbling off.

            He takes off his coat and his shoes and puts his things away robotically, mind foggily replaying his own words in his mind, replaying that first night in Jay’s apartment when Erin asked if he loved him. He makes dinner and eats it and goes to bed hours before he usually would. Turns off the light and lays in the dark wrapped in blankets and feels the pressure in his chest that isn’t anxiety. Not this time. It’s grief, for everything he has just lost with a few careless words. The tears drip slowly from the corners of his eyes until sleep comes for him from the shadows.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews! Tell me what you think, it'll make my day.


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